


A Warm Gun

by Indybaggins



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Angst, Body Image, Chest Binding, Clothed Sex, Coming Out, Dissociation, First Time, Friendship/Love, Frottage, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Martin has a secret, Menstruation, Penises, Sex, Sexual Identity, Trans Male Character, Travel, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Martin’s been with MJN Air for two months. He’s had ‘Martin’ and ‘male’ on his passport for three.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Martin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jie_jie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jie_jie/gifts).



> WARNINGS: Scenes containing anxiety, menstruation, body issues, gender dysphoria, trans prejudice and ignorance, transphobia, microaggressions, a bit of watersports, urination, sex that doesn’t feel right, dissociation after sex. 
> 
> For Jie_Jie, a belated birthday gift! <3
> 
> Beta and Brit-picking was by the lovely Gutterflower.
> 
> [Art for this story](http://clairedrawsairdraws.tumblr.com/image/160309881034%22) by Clairedraws, thank you!

 

 

“Martin...” Douglas’ voice echoes loudly in the bathroom’s tiled walls. 

Martin looks up at the blue-grey door, scribbled on with graffiti. He’s on the toilet. Douglas saw him walk in here, and he’s probably by the urinals somewhere himself. Martin isn’t sure if he’s meant to reply. “Um, yes?”

“Are you _eating crisps_ in there?” 

Martin’s hands still. He’s holding a pale blue wrapper he just unwrapped. He can feel the heat flush his cheeks. “I...” Martin tries to laugh casually, but it sticks in his throat, and comes out choked. “No, why would I... no!” 

There’s a brief pause. 

Martin looks down at his underwear spanning between his legs. The bloody pad he was about to change. The rolled up pair of socks, pinned to the front of his briefs with a plastic safety pin. 

There’s the sound of Douglas moving, and a tap running. 

Martin can feel the pad tremble in his hand as his fingers start shaking. He doesn’t change it, he can’t, because Douglas will hear. He glances at the small bruise on his upper thigh from his latest testosterone injection. This isn’t even supposed to happen anymore, his body _shouldn’t_... 

“Giving the smuggling trade a go, are you?” Douglas takes some steps, and the hand dryer starts blowing air. He sounds like he’s kidding. 

Martin swallows. His throat feels like it’s closing up, like he can’t breathe. “...No.” 

The sound of the dryer ends abruptly, and Martin has a vision of Douglas walking over to him, throwing the door of the stall open, and seeing him like this. Martin’s heartbeat thuds in wild, sickening waves. 

Douglas says, idly, “Probably for the best, I doubt you’re cut out to be an international drug lord. It takes a certain something. Anyway, hurry it up, they’re waiting.” 

The sound of the door falling shut. 

Douglas is gone.

Martin waits for a breath, and then pulls the old pad off - wincing at the sound - and throws it in the toilet. He’s not supposed to, but it’s not like there are bins in a men’s toilet stall. Usually he’d hide it in his pocket and then his flight bag but Douglas will be outside. Martin quickly puts the new one in its place. He wipes off, stands, and pulls his pants up carefully so the pad is right in the middle, and the pair of socks is under his zip. He flushes, and steps out of the stall. 

He washes his hands, and puts some cold water on his bright red cheeks. Then leans over the sink, and breathes. The sweat is still pin-pricking on the back of his neck.

Martin’s been with MJN Air for two months now. 

He’s had ‘Martin’ and ‘male’ on his passport for three. 

 

-

 

“Here.” Martin hands a small package to Arthur. “It’s, ah, a present? For your birthday?” He wrapped it in newspaper. 

“Wow, for me? You shouldn’t have!” Arthur pauses. “I mean you _could_ , and you _did_ , and I’m really glad that you did, it’s just a thing that people say, I don’t know why, really – everyone loves presents!” Arthur beams at him, even though he doesn’t even know what it is yet. 

It’s not quite Arthur’s birthday for another two days yet, but he seemed sad that they wouldn’t be flying. Martin wasn’t even sure if he should get him something really, but then his eye landed on it in his room this morning, and... Martin feels a hint of worry now. He doesn’t know Arthur that well, and he’s not sure if maybe he’ll think it’s childish. Maybe people give Arthur childish gifts sometimes and he secretly hates it. Or Carolyn will hate it, Martin didn’t think of that. But it’s too late now, because Arthur’s tearing into the paper. 

Revealing a small model airplane. 

“It’s it’s not quite like GERTI, this is a Bombardier Challenger twin engine aircraft, see?” Martin hesitates. “But that way you’ll still... be flying a little on your birthday?” No, that’s stupid. Martin adds, quickly, “You don’t have to like it.”

Arthur turns it around in his hand carefully. “Skip, you _made_ this?”

“Well, I put it together. It’s a fun hobby, both pleasant and educational, and I feel that it really does provide useful insights into the...” 

Arthur reaches out, and hugs him. “It’s _brilliant!_ ”

Martin makes a faint ‘oomph’ sound, because Arthur is both strong and enthusiastic, but it’s nice. He hasn’t been hugged in a long time, and Arthur’s arms are sure, and warm. Martin holds on for a while, even. Until Arthur leans back a bit, frowning at him. “Are you hurt?”

“What? No. I mean, it was a bit tight, but no.” 

“It’s...” Arthur rubs his hand between Martin’s shoulder blades. “You’re wearing a bandage?” 

Martin quickly steps out of his grip. “I’m, ah...” 

“Did you hurt your back? My Nana had that once. She couldn’t lift things, too.” 

Arthur asks it so sincerely. And the thing is, Martin’s never, ever been a good liar, so it feels wrong, but he says, “Yes. Yes! I hurt my back.” And then, “Don’t tell Douglas?”

 

-

 

When they share a hotel room - and that happens more often than he had thought it would - Martin never dares to shower. He never completely undresses, either. He sleeps with his binder on, a top over it, and then his pyjama top over that. He wears his pants and the pair of socks pinned there with an extra pin, because he’s afraid that it’ll move during the night, and he’ll wake up with it visibly wrong, somehow. 

He’s scared of stretching, and showing the curve of his chest. 

Of bleeding, always, and not noticing. 

Of someone at a border control realising that his passport and license have been changed very recently. Or that his name will still come up as wrong in a computer system somewhere. His fingerprints. 

Martin is scared of sitting wrong, of leaning wrong, or speaking with too high of a voice. Of going to the bathroom. Of getting into an accident or getting sick, and having to go to the hospital. Of talking on the phone or to ATC. Of the passengers, when they’re from Fitton, in case someone might know who he is. That someone at the airport might. 

That someone will accidentally bump into him, and realise. 

Martin wears his jacket over his shirt every day for the next two months after hugging Arthur. All through a climb on a Spanish hill because their bus breaks down. Through a visit to a Brazilian market where he pants for breath as dirty children take his hand and pull him along into winding streets, and Douglas barters for a ten pound bag of coffee beans. 

Martin saves up for a more expensive, better binder that’s integrated into a top and completely seamless. When it gets dirty he hand-washes it in the sink, and lets it dry by his bed at night, because he can’t afford to buy two. 

And the next time that Arthur wants to hug him, he steps away fast.

Just in case. 

 

-

 

Every time they go through airport security, Martin can feel his anxiety throb and circle and stab. Shivers run over his back. He’s had a pat-down four times as a man now, and he’s never been called on it. 

But there’s always a first.

They’re in Miami, and usually there is an option not to go through the full body scanners, but not today. Martin hangs back, and goes last after Arthur and Douglas. He steps up, holds his breath as the machine swirls around him, and thinks a quick and fervent string of - _Maybe not this time. Maybe they won’t care, today. Maybe it won’t matter._

When he steps out, the TSA officer says, “You are selected for a follow-up pat-down.” 

Martin looks over to his flight bag - he has copies of every one of his official documents in there, the old ones, too, and a form that explains what being transgender is and their rights in fifteen different languages. But his bag is being scanned right now. 

The agent says, sounding bored, “Please follow me.”

Martin gets guided into a small dressing room with a curtain. The officer closes it behind them, and then starts touching him. His shoulders, and arms. Then over his chest, and Martin can’t help but wince, he doesn’t like being touched there at all. Then over his ribs, his stomach, and he can feel himself flush, because the man’s hand moves to his upper thigh, then repeats the same on the other side. 

Then he takes out a metal stick, and traces over his clothes with it. Between his legs.

“Hold out your hands.” The agent moves a small white cloth over them. Swabs him for traces of explosives. 

And that should be it. Martin has read the procedures, if they don’t find anything, then they have to let him go. But instead of telling him that, the man looks him over. For a long time. 

It feels like his eyes are sticking to him, to his chest, between his legs, like something long and slow and terrible. 

He seems annoyed. Almost angry. 

Martin glances at the curtain, he could run, if he had to. He won’t, he never would, but he could. Douglas and Arthur are right there. Instead, Martin says, around the gulp of something hot in his throat, “I’m transgender.” 

The agent sighs. “Next time, just say you’re a woman.” 

Martin swallows his reply. _He’s not a woman, he’s never been a woman, he isn’t now, he’s not!_ “...Yes.”

“You’re free to go.”

Martin escapes - and it feels like that, an escape - with trembling hands and a fast pace, and he keeps on going. Fast enough that Douglas complains, “Slow it down, will you? They’re not chasing us.” But Martin can feel it pushing on his back, and he has to get away. 

He should be glad that it was just that, he knows. Douglas didn’t even hear. No one did. The officer was discreet, it was fine, it was the best possible way that it could have gone. But Martin can still feel the hand between his legs, the flat fingers pressing there, just enough to _know_. The hard touch over his chest. 

He doesn’t sleep at all that night, balancing on the knife-edge of panic, his body aching with how tight he’s curled up.

 

-

 

They’re flying to Honolulu. Martin is looking forward to it, he’s never landed there before, but when he comes into work, Carolyn is waiting for him in the office. 

“Here, you’re wearing this today.”

Martin looks down at the pile of straw she just handed him. “Why do I need to...” 

“You need to, because for some unfathomable reason this particular newlywed couple has requested that we are dressed in those when we greet them. And while - I grant you - it is ridiculous, they have also spent a rather ludicrous amount of money to be flown out to Hawaii on their honeymoon in a private jet, so costumes it will be.” She pauses. “Oh, and there’s a lei as well.”

Martin feels a sinking feeling in his chest. “I can’t.” 

“Of course you can, we all can, and we all will.” 

“No, I Carolyn, I...” Martin breathes. “You _know_ that I...” Carolyn saw all the paperwork before she hired him. The ones that still said ‘female’, his old flight licence, the job references, everything. Carolyn looked at them, and then looked at him, and said, ‘Are you willing to work for half a salary?’ And then the negotiating started. 

“I can’t!” 

“What, wear a straw skirt? Yes, you can. Arthur is wearing one, too. And so will I, even though I find it entirely embarrassing. So are you going to do your job?” 

Carolyn stares him down. 

“I, yes, if it’s... yes.” 

Martin stands in a corner, pulls the straw skirt over his trousers, and wears the lei around his neck. 

Then steps outside, to Karl’s little whistle. “Well, would you look at that! Another one. Starting a tribute band, are you, boys?” 

Arthur runs up. “Martin! You know, this is called a malo? If you’re a man, anyway. If you’re a woman it’s something else, Mum told me, like, pa-u?” He twirls, and the skirt spins around his legs. The flowers hit him in the face. 

“Oh,” Martin says, faintly. _If you’re a man, anyway._ It’s strange, he doesn’t feel as if he has a body at all, right now. 

He steps into GERTI. Into the cockpit, where Douglas is sitting and reading. Not wearing a skirt at all. “You’re not dressed!”

“No, I’m not doing it.”

“But, Carolyn said that...”

“Hm, see, the difference between you and me, Martin, is that _she can’t make me_.” Douglas turns back to his book. “I agreed I’d stay in here, as long as the passengers don’t see me, it’s fine.” 

“That’s not fair!” 

“No, it rather isn’t, is it?” Douglas grins. 

Martin doesn’t say anything more. He goes outside to shake the hands of the passengers, a middle-aged couple, because he has to, but it’s like there is a fog around him. He can’t feel the skirt around his legs, or the flowers bouncing up and down against his chest as he walks. He feels as if he’s in a dream. 

When he gets back inside, Douglas puts his book away, and says, “I have to say, Martin, it does suit you. The green brings out your eyes.”

Martin looks away. He feels nauseous. 

Arthur sticks his head in. “Hi, chaps, Mum wanted me to tell you that we’re ready for departure. I’ll get to serve them coconuts later on! With straws! Oh, and Martin, Mum says you can take your clothes off while we’re flying if you want to.” 

Douglas sighs. “...And yet she never lets me when I ask.” 

“I’m not though, I wish we could wear this every day!” Arthur spins again, and his skirt hits the side of the door with a rustle. 

“I’ve flown naked a couple of times back in the eighties. Gets sweaty on the seat, mind. But oh, the sense of freedom…” 

Martin immediately pulls the lei over his head. It briefly tangles with the gold braid of his hat. 

Then gets rid of the malo while Douglas hails ATC. “Aloha, Karl! This is coconut air, first officer luau speaking. Captain Hawaii is currently _stripping off his skirt_ , but other than that, we’re ready to depart.” 

Karl sighs. “I could use a beach.” 

“Can’t we all. A good afternoon spent in the sun, a Mai Tai in my hand, being rubbed down by a nice local woman…”

Martin interrupts, “Karl, cleared for take-off?”

“Yeees, fine.” Karl sounds annoyed. “GERTI cleared for take-off.”

Douglas glances at him as he turns the motors on. “In a snappy mood, are we?”

“No! I’m... no.” Martin breathes. “I just don’t like it. Um, dressing up.” 

“Hm, I don’t mind it, personally. I made a _marvellous_ Lady Macbeth once.” Douglas considers. “Not easy walking in heels, though.” 

"Oh?" Martin likes the stories from Douglas. He can listen to the words, and drift on them. It helps with trying not to remember the feeling of the skirt brushing against his knees. Or the necklace around his neck, he’d almost forgotten what that’s like, but his body didn’t - he can feel a glimpse of a bra, now, a memory of it, tight around him. Having it push his breasts up.

Buying dresses that never fit right, no matter what size. Having his hair brushing his shoulders, tickling the side of his face, tying it up in a bow. 

Make-up, the strange face looking back at him in the mirror. Having his lips coloured and eyes comically large, and underneath so pale, sweating. The throbbing sense of ‘this is wrong’ and ‘I can’t’ and ‘maybe I’m not a person at all’. 

He wanted to die, for a long time. 

 

-

 

Martin manages to keep it a secret for eighteen months. 

And in that time, sometimes, just for a bit, he forgets. That he’s different at all, and not just a person. A man. No one has called him anything else than ‘he’. No one even thinks anything else, except Carolyn maybe but she never says it. He’s always ‘skip’ or ‘Martin’, and Martin just, for hours at a time, sometimes a full day... forgets. 

It’s amazing. 

He’s so careful to keep it a secret. He only ever injects his testosterone at home, because the airport security might search his bag. He never wears anything metal to avoid pat-downs. He pretends to shave in the mornings. He makes up excuses to never go to the loo when Douglas is in there, too. 

And then, in the Rome airport, Arthur trips over Martin’s bag. 

Arthur falls dramatically, he slides on his knees over the marble floor, and everything that’s in Martin’s bag comes flying out along with him as if it’s in slow motion. Martin jumps up, his heart hammering in his chest because he has a small black case that he keeps in there that holds two menstrual pads, he has his papers about transgender rights that are neatly folded and stowed away next to his flight license... He grabs as much as he can, as fast as he can. But along with a water bottle, mints, a thick flight manual, and airplane model glue, a small green paper went flying. A prescription. 

Douglas picks it up, looks at it, and hands it back. 

Arthur is stammering apologies, but Martin barely hears him. He went to the doctor that morning for a blood draw and to get his testosterone prescribed. He put the prescription in his flight bag, right next to his wallet, to buy it later on his way home and he should have left it in the car, but he was nearly late and he wasn’t thinking and... Douglas read it. He must have. 

Martin collects the rest of his belongings and puts them all back in a haze of fear. 

Douglas doesn’t mention it at all until they’re in the air. And then, just when Martin thinks that just maybe, he doesn’t care. Just maybe, he’ll be fine with it. Maybe, this one time, it’ll be okay, Douglas glances at him and says, “So... injecting testosterone? A bit on the drastic side, isn’t it?” 

And Martin can feel his heart sink. 

“Are you doing a spot of body building? Trying to grow a beard? Or is it more of a...” Douglas grins conspiratorially, “... _performance_ issue?”

Martin doesn’t look at Douglas, because he knows that his face will give it away. It’ll all fall apart, now. He knows it will, and it’s not fair, he’s friends with Douglas, he _loves_ flying with him, it’s all been... so good. Martin can feel tears prickling in his eyes. But he says it anyway, “My body doesn’t make enough.” 

“Testosterone? Why?” Douglas sounds curious, but not like he knows, even now. “A medical condition, is it?” 

Martin could lie, he knows that he should, still. But he can’t. He’s never been a good liar, and the moment feels so bright and near and he can’t, not to Douglas. “I’m, um, trans?” Martin says, feeling hollow already, “That means that I was born with a different, female, body...” 

“You’re _a woman_?” Douglas sounds strange. 

“No!” Martin hates this part, he looks down at the controls even though they’re blurring together, because he doesn’t want to see the hate in Douglas’ eyes, the anger he’ll feel now, the disgust. Martin has seen it too many times, and he doesn’t want to know what it looks like on Douglas’ face. “I’m not. I was just born like that. I _was_ ,” Martin hates even saying that, “but I’m a man, really. Inside. I always was.”

There’s a silence.

Martin forces himself to tear his eyes away from the navigation screen. 

Douglas’ hands are tight on the controls, his lips pressed close together. It makes Martin want to babble to make it go away. Only there’s nothing he can say. 

Eventually, Martin dares, “What are you... thinking?”

“Well...” Douglas trails off. He’s still looking straight ahead. “I _did_ always know that you were over-compensating for something. But I admit I was rather wrong about the nature of the something.” 

Douglas doesn’t say anything more, so the only sounds are Arthur, chattering away in the aisle. The announcements that Douglas makes in his standard tone. The weather from ATC. Then the clearance for landing in Fitton from Karl. 

It’s the longest two-hour flight of Martin’s life. 

When they land GERTI, Douglas gets up, and leaves without even looking at him.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. (Douglas)

 

 

Douglas has rarely felt such a stab of betrayal. He held it in, kept quiet for Martin’s sake - he doesn’t deserve to be lashed out at, Douglas does see that much. But he trusted Martin. Douglas always thought that he knew exactly who Martin was, what _they_ were, too, and now it turns out that it was a lie. Martin - and how he even pulled that off, who knows - has been lying to his face all along. 

Douglas likes working with Martin, they laugh and joke. It’s been a damn good year. And now it turns out that it wasn’t real. Martin wasn’t real. Their friendship isn’t. Douglas isn’t sure why it feels like he’s been hit straight in the chest with this, but it does. 

He never saw it coming. 

And he should have noticed, shouldn’t he? Martin is too short for a man. Thin, without much muscle. He has small, delicate-looking hands. He wears a size six shoe. He has a high pitched voice when he panics. He’s not particularly masculine in any possible way, but Douglas never even thought to look for it. He never doubted Martin, and he never would have questioned that much about him. That he might be fake. 

Douglas drives home, parks in the garage, switches his epaulettes, and then gets out to see his wife. His wonderful, amazing, normal, wife. 

Helena’s in the kitchen. 

“Darling.” Douglas kisses her on her cool cheek.

“Dougie!” Helena turns away from her cooking. “Have a good day?” 

“Besides the majestic glimpse of Treviso airport, no.” ‘My co-worker’s actually a woman’ is not a fact that exactly fills him with joy. Douglas moves back to the hallway to change his shoes for slippers, and says while he walks, “ _Martin._ ”

Helena says from the kitchen, “Oh, so is he gay? I have to say, when I saw him I did think that he looked it, too.” 

Douglas glances in the mirror, and sees his own drawn face. “...No, not quite.” 

His eye lingers on the epaulettes on his shoulders. 

“Then what happened?” 

Helena sounds curious. But Douglas hesitates. She won’t know what to make of this either - why would she? He was going to tell her, he didn’t even think that he wouldn’t, but now… 

“Nothing. Just the usual, you know what he’s like.”

She laughs again, but it’s a little strained. “Yes, you do talk about him often enough.”

Douglas frowns. _No, he doesn’t._

 

-

 

The next day, Douglas gets to the airfield early enough that he catches Carolyn coming out of her car along with Arthur. “Carolyn, a word?” 

“What?” She seems suspicious. “Why?”

Carolyn couldn’t have hired Martin without knowing. Or that’s what Douglas considered around five this morning, thinking it though. “Martin confessed something rather interesting yesterday.” 

She considers him, and then says, “Arthur, dear? Go open the office.” 

“Sure, Mum!”

Douglas waits until Arthur is far enough away, and then says, “You know. Who he really is, Martin. Who _she_ is, I suppose.” 

That’s what keeps on bugging him the most - Douglas tries to think of Martin and to see her as a woman, how she really is, or was, with long hair, a skirt, but it doesn’t fit, he can’t. It doesn’t look like Martin at all. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I didn’t see a reason to. If he wants to pretend that he’s a man, then he can.” Carolyn looks him over. “Does it bother you that much? Lord knows he’s pretending that he’s the captain every day and you’ve never corrected him on that.” 

“Carolyn, I need to know that I’m flying with someone who’s…” 

“What, _female_? Douglas, I don’t know if you’ve realised this, but being a woman doesn’t make him any worse of a pilot than he already is.” Carolyn eyes him. “Really, I thought you would be bigger than this, you two get along great, it’s always comedy hour up in there.”

He wouldn’t have gotten that close to Martin if he’d have known. And the fact that he didn’t - there’s something terribly wrong about it. “He has been lying for the last year-and-a-half. To all of us.” 

“And he had good reason to! Now, get used to it, because we’re flying to Budapest in an hour.” Carolyn looks at him. “Or is that going to be a problem?” 

Douglas is not sure, actually. 

But Carolyn gives him a _look_ that he chooses to ignore, so what he says with some reluctance is, “I imagine we’ll get by.”

 

-

 

Douglas goes to sit in GERTI. He prepared, he has a book to read. They’ll get through it. 

That thought lasts a whole ten minutes, until Martin opens the door, carefully, and says, “Douglas. Hi.” With a trembling voice. 

Martin looks terrible. Pale, with dark smudges under his eyes. But then Douglas himself didn’t sleep last night, either. At all. 

Martin hovers there as if he isn’t sure that he’s even allowed inside anymore. 

Maybe he’s gotten beaten up for it before. Cursed at. All in all, Douglas thinks that he reacted quite well, there’s some who would have said much worse than he did. At least he had the good sense to keep it to himself. 

But fine, Douglas says, “You can’t blame me for being _a tad surprised_ , Martin.” It’s not like these things happen all the time. Or that he knew to expect it from anyone, let alone Martin. 

He asks, quietly, “You didn’t guess, before?” 

Douglas admits, “No. I had absolutely no idea.” 

Martin’s lips hold a flutter of a smile for a moment. Then it falls away. He looks down at his feet. “Are you still flying with me?” 

Douglas has flown with women before, and it’s never been much of a problem. Never quite like this, of course, but Martin’s still standing in the doorway looking terrified, so Douglas says, “Oh, I’ve survived it so far.” And then asks, even though he couldn’t care less, “What’s the flight plan?” 

Martin comes in. 

 

-

 

They speak occasionally through take-off when there’s something to confirm, but Douglas still feels a strange, nauseating shift. He’s gotten used to Martin here, always on his left. He’s gotten used to him, talking, and laughing. The two of them in here used to mean something good. 

And the thing is, that before Martin told him, before yesterday, Douglas had had a thought or two. 

Not about kissing him or anything like that, but casually offering a little something, to see what Martin would say to it. A quick hand job, a bit of mutual release, it wouldn’t be the first time or even the tenth that Douglas would do something like that with a co-pilot. He’d have kept it strictly friendly, far away from anything real. Away from Helena. 

He’s glad he didn’t now, of course. Douglas glances at Martin – who even knows what he’s got under there. 

And Douglas can ignore it and, of course, joke anyway. But then his mind seems to want to think of nothing else, and he’s pretty sure that Martin’s not imagining rainbows right now, either. So he offers, “I do have a question.”

Martin starts, and says quickly, “Yes? Yes, that’s okay, you can ask me questions. If you want to.”

“Martin.”

Martin is visibly steeling himself. “It’s my name.”

“Yes, but why _Martin_? I’m assuming you chose it, then why not something more…” Martin-like. “Of a captain-ish flavour, let’s say?” 

“Oh.” Martin frowns. “I thought it sounded like it fit me? And that people would believe that it was me?”

“Granted, they _do_ , it sounds perfectly plausible. But why not go bigger?” If anything, Douglas would have thought that Martin would have taken the chance to sound manlier than is humanly possible. “Boris, that sort of thing? Conan. Marco. Dagger. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

Martin hesitates. “I thought about ‘Adam’ for a bit?” 

“The first man? A nice thought. But still, it lacks a certain masculine touch.” Douglas thinks. “How about Ace?”

The flight deck door opens. It’s Arthur, who says, chipper as ever, “Oh, what are you playing?”

Douglas replies easily, “Alternative names for Martin.” 

Behind Arthur is Carolyn, who looks between the both of them with a slightly relieved glance, and then doesn’t miss a beat. “I always thought you looked like a Thomas, Martin.” 

“Thomas, really?” Douglas says. “Not quite as _butch_ as I was thinking, but not bad.” 

Arthur offers, “How about Harvey?” 

“Harvey?” 

“Yes, like Harvey Davidson?” 

“ _Harley_ , but yes, it does have that manly élan we were going for.” Douglas looks at Martin, “What do you think - Harley Crieff?”

Martin replies quickly, “I’m fine. But thanks. Douglas.” 

Douglas throws a look at Carolyn – _there_. It’s what she wanted. 

He’s joking with Martin. 

 

-

 

They manage all right in the next weeks, Douglas thinks. 

Oh, it’s all different now, of course it is. But they muddle through. Martin’s just as bad of a pilot as he always was, just as attached to the rules, and Douglas is just as prepared to create some mayhem to make the days go by. 

There’s the occasional moment now where he doesn’t go quite as far. He doesn’t mention Martin’s lack of manliness, doesn’t mention anything related to that, actually. But most of the time, their conversations are just as they would have been before, and Douglas prides himself on that. He always was the open-minded sort, really. Forgive and forget. 

So they do well enough.

Even when Martin goes oddly quiet after a pat-down at the airport. Douglas has a clue what that might have been about, of course, so he ropes Arthur into a rousing game of passenger derby to get Martin’s mind off it. 

 

-

 

A couple of months later, they’re in Fes.

Douglas is sitting on a roof terrace, leaned back against some pillows. He’s looking at the sky as it turns a slow orange and wisps of clouds drift on the evening air. He takes a brief lurk from his hookah, it makes a rattling sound. He keeps the smoke in his lungs, and exhales slowly. 

Ah, Morocco. 

They got up before sunrise, or whatever the slow lifting of fog on a dreary day in Fitton counts for. Collected passengers and flew them to Berlin. Then picked up a group of tourists from Prague and brought those to London. And then stopped in Dublin to bring a businessman to Fes, which is why they’re out of hours and spending the night here. 

They’re sleeping in a small bottom-level room with bunk beds, entirely too cramped for the three of them - Douglas took one look at it and turned right around. But the riad itself is rather grand. Tiles on the walls, a small pattering fountain. And the offer of some mint tea and a hookah on the deserted terrace. 

There’s a panoramic view of the surrounding rooftops. A chaotic mess of buildings and satellite dishes, all veiled in the low, smoky haze of a warm day coming to an end. There’s a smoker on another rooftop a couple of floors lower. Douglas can’t see him well, but there’s the curl of the cigarette smoke, and the occasional small light as he takes a drag. 

There are some insects buzzing in the air. 

Children playing, far enough away that he can only hear the occasional echo of shrill voices on the wind. 

And then the sound of footsteps coming closer. The wheeze of someone who’s doing a lot of stairs. The shape of a hat pops up, and under it, Martin’s curls. 

Martin reaches the top of the stairs, and says, out of breath, “Wow, it’s nice here. High though.”

And just then, a faint shouting starts up. Words in Arabic being amplified by speakers in the distance. And then closer by another, and another, echoing over the city - Martin’s face lights up as he listens.

“Evening prayer.” Douglas says. 

Martin looks around for a while more, and then lowers himself down to sit on a pillow next to him. “Arthur’s taking a shower, he tried to pet a camel.”

“...yes?”

“He got spit on by the camel. The owner tried to get us to pay for petting it, too, we had to run.” 

“Hm, sorry to have missed that.” Douglas hands Martin the hookah.

Martin looks at it. “I don’t smoke.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s just apple tobacco, hardly addictive at all. Just drag.” 

Martin takes it, inexpertly sucks on it, and then coughs sharply. 

“Like this.” Douglas takes it from him, and takes a drag, rattling the hookah, for some reason uncomfortably aware that Martin’s lips were just on there. He blows the smoke in the air, and then hands it back. 

Martin takes a drag, too, and manages without coughing this time, although he sounds like it’s close. 

It’s a nice night. A breeze rustling over them now. The sharp, sweet smell of the hookah. Some stars are starting to twinkle in the darkening sky. 

Douglas looks at Martin and, not for the first time, wonders whether it’s worth it to live like that. As half of a man. Always pretending. 

But then he probably was a terrible woman, too, Douglas can see that. 

Martin sees him looking, and smiles awkwardly. 

Douglas says, not sure why he’s even bringing it up, “People like you used to come to Morocco for surgery.” Douglas had forgotten about it himself, but being back here he remembers the stories, the hushed jokes. It seemed like something far away then. “Casablanca.” It was the place to go. “In the seventies, at least.”

Martin is looking at him attentively. 

“Or well, I’m not sure if it was your particular flavour of surgery, maybe more the men wanting to be women.” 

“I’m not…” Martin swallows. “I’m not having surgery. I don’t think.” 

Douglas feels surprised. “Why not?” He assumed that Martin already had some. “They can give you an _appendage_ of some sort, can’t they? I imagine it won’t be quite up to par, but still.”

Martin looks away. He’s flushed, but he seems willing to talk about it. “It’s more than one surgery, with a long recovery time for all of them. I wouldn’t be able to fly for months.” 

And that’s more important? Douglas considers it. Martin without flying won’t be him at all, so whether he has a cock or not, breasts or not, it’s probably not even the heart of the matter, he supposes. “Are you happy like this, then?” 

Douglas didn’t mean to get quite that personal, it’s just the environment that does it. The stars are coming out in force, now. The prayers are falling away one by one to leave a resonating silence. 

Martin takes a breath. 

Douglas wants to break the moment, joke about getting too personal, but Martin says, “Mostly, I think. Most of the time.” 

“And that’s better than before?” Douglas is genuinely curious about that, can it really be better than being normal? Better than being a regular woman? 

“Yes! Yes, a lot.” Martin smiles. “I feel like I’m _right_ , now. Like I’m finally a real person.” 

Douglas keeps on looking at him. Martin, the curls around his face. The faint sunburn on his cheeks and nose, even though they’ve only been here for a couple of hours. The way his shirt sleeves are rolled up, showing his thin, freckled arms. 

There’s the sound of footsteps, close, and then Arthur’s voice, “Hello, chaps!” And then, as he looks around, “This is _brilliant_ , isn’t it?” 

Douglas is almost relieved that he’s here. “Ever tried a hookah, Arthur?” 

 

-

 

It inspires him to tell Helena the truth. 

Martin does.

Douglas comes home, parks the car in the garage, and doesn’t swap his epaulettes. He walks in to the kitchen, he doesn’t see Helena there but finds her in the living room watching a show, and kisses her cheek. She smiles at him with something habitual in her smile, and Douglas says, “I need to talk to you about something.” 

She nods, turns the TV off, and turns to him. “Yes, actually... Me, too.” 

_The Tai Chi teacher._

Afterwards, Douglas watches her pack her bags. She takes bits of herself from pre-organised piles around the house, and she’s done in under an hour. Done with a house where they spent the better part of a decade together. She had been packing for a long time, apparently. 

Douglas lies in their bed that night, his and Helena’s, alone for the first time in years. 

He didn’t see this coming, either. 

 

-

 

Three weeks later, they’re on a night flight, returning from Costa Rica to Fitton. Granted, that alone should be enough to make anyone feel a bit less than enthused, especially after seeing the sunny beaches that they had no chance to visit - but there’s something off about Martin today. 

The way he holds on to the controls, almost hidden in the near-dark, seems to be for comfort. His fingertips are gently stroking the navigation display. 

Douglas would be mocking Martin’s emotional dependence on a piece of flying scrap metal if he hadn’t had the occasional conversation with the old girl himself. There’s a certain severity in flying solo, and a bit of sweet-talking for her not to fail catastrophically while he’s in the air never hurt anyone. 

Douglas asks, “You feeling all right?” 

Martin starts. “Yes!” Then his eyes dart to the side. Check of the altimeter, touch to the tremor of the control column, Douglas knows Martin’s habits better than he knows the actual flight manual by now.

“You sure?”

Martin glances at him. “It’s, my dad died, three years ago today. And he never got to…” Martin swallows. “See me like this. Fly.” 

Ah. Three years, that’s before MJN. “You never told him, then, that you’re…?” _Wanting to be a man._

“No.” 

There’s a silence. 

Douglas thinks of saying _‘If it helps, I’m getting a divorce. Third in a row.’_ But he doesn’t. Instead he stands up, and says, “Arthur was comatose last I saw, want a coffee?” 

Martin seems genuinely grateful for it. He always does, even for the smallest gesture. “Yes, thanks.”

Douglas moves past him, and catches a glimpse of the back of Martin’s neck. Over the blue line of his collar, the tag of his shirt is sticking up. 

Douglas imagines that he could put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, something like that. Martin certainly looks like he could use it - it’s in the tilt of his head, the shape of his shoulder blades visible through his jacket in the low, after-midnight light as he hunches over. 

The way he’s carefully put together, Martin. Always a moment from falling apart, but always holding himself there, too. 

None of them are much better than GERTI, are they? All gaffer tape and patches. 

Douglas sighs, _might as well._ He reaches out and intends to say something vaguely comforting, but at the first brush of his fingers Martin audibly sucks in a breath, and stills. 

Douglas squeezes Martin’s shoulder for a long moment. 

Then leaves the cabin. 

He navigates the ups and downs of minor turbulence to stand in the galley in the muted light, and makes the coffee machine steam, then spit and hiss at him, hardly audible over the buzz of the plane’s engines. 

He’s not sure why he’s shaking.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. (Martin)

 

 

Martin has never talked about it much. 

He’s seen a psychiatrist because he had to for the NHS. He talked a lot about flying, and some about how he was sure that he’s really, deep down, a man, and then he got the stamp on his file and he qualified for testosterone treatment. They believed him. 

He told Mum soon after. She cried, and then ever since she’s been pretending that it’s all fine, all good, that everything is the same and everyone is happy, because that’s Mum. 

Martin told Caitlin, and he hasn’t seen her husband since. Or her kids. They’ve always just left, or they can’t come over for some reason or other when Martin is there. Caitlin doesn’t meet his eyes when she says that. 

Simon doesn’t even shake Martin’s hand anymore. And he still calls him ‘she’, and then laughs. He says it’s hard to break the habit, and that Martin will always be his little sister - it makes Mum smile because she thinks it’s meant well. 

It isn’t. 

Martin doesn’t have friends outside of MJN. The students at the house where he lives don’t know, of course. Carolyn knew but never asked him anything, which he was really grateful for, for a long time, but now he wonders whether she maybe didn’t want to ask because she didn’t know what to say. 

So talking to Douglas, it’s something new. It’s scary, but it’s… good. 

Martin hasn’t told anyone besides the doctors that he won’t do the surgeries, either. They tried to give him a brochure about scars on his chest, about skin grafts and vessel transplants and urethral lengthening and weeks in the hospital and months of recovery time. The doctor drew him a sketch of how it works, and told him to think about it. 

Douglas just believed it when Martin said he’d rather fly. 

 

-

 

Martin switches to having testosterone pellets implanted under his skin instead of the injections. They’re supposed to give off a more even dose, and it feels like it is. He’s getting some visible muscle in his arms from moving furniture and boxes all the time, and he feels stronger, too. 

He’s growing more hair on his legs, his arms, a few on his cheeks, now, too. Not enough for a full beard yet but it’s great to see in the mirror, to feel it when he moves his fingertips against his cheek. He starts shaving for real. 

Martin sells one of his more expensive model airplanes, a Tu-114, and buys a harness he can wear under his pants, and a latex prosthetic, they call it. A penis. It doesn’t feel hard and uncomfortable between his legs like the cheap ones he tried before did. This one was expensive, but it’s soft, the material warms up between his thighs. It feels almost real. Looks very nearly real, too. 

Martin feels flushed all over the first time he wears it to work. He practiced sitting with it, even jumped around to make sure it won’t suddenly come loose, but he spends the whole day feeling as if he has a secret, warm and there, between his legs. 

Douglas even notices, and asks, “In a good mood?”

Martin startles. “No! I mean, well, yes, but not for any special reason! At all!” 

Douglas looks him over with a disbelieving grin. Then offers, “Not in love, are you? Feeling the bright sting of one of Cupid’s arrows?” 

Martin frowns. “No, of course not, who would…” _want me._

He wants to, sometimes, date. Hold someone’s hand. Be with someone. But he always knew that that probably wouldn’t happen, and it never seemed too important, either. First, it was flying, always flying, and then when he realised why his body felt wrong it was that, too, but he’s never… 

“Someone might.” 

Douglas says it so easily that Martin can’t help but feel a flash of hope. “You think so?” When Douglas touched his shoulder that night, Martin thought, for just a moment... And then he found out that Douglas is getting a divorce, too, and it seemed... 

“Oh, certainly, there’s someone for everyone. Aren’t there websites for that sort of thing?” 

Martin can feel a sinking sense of disappointment. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you should have a look.” 

“I will.” Martin looks down at his hands. 

 

-

 

“You haven’t told Arthur, have you?” 

They’re on a long flight to Mumbai. They’re playing chess, a set balanced between the two of them on Martin’s armrest and a food tray from the galley. 

Martin knows that Douglas is just bringing it up so that he will stop paying attention. He almost beat him last time, the score is fourteen to zero now but it was really close. “No. Do you think I should?”

“It’s up to you, of course.” Douglas takes Martin’s rook. “I just thought it was curious.”

“Curious? Why?” Martin moves a pawn. 

“Oh, well, he’s bound to be the easiest to tell out of all of us, I don’t know why you’re keeping him for last.” Douglas takes Martin’s bishop. 

Martin wasn’t keeping him - he thought that maybe he just wouldn’t tell at all. But then maybe that’s not fair. 

“Your move. “

Martin moves his queen, and thinks about it. Should he tell Arthur? That way when he gets searched again at the airport, he won’t have to lie about why he hates it so much. It would be easier when they share rooms, too. But he hates telling people, because it always changes something. They never treat him exactly the same, afterwards. 

Douglas moves his knight close to Martin’s king. There’s a bit of turbulence, so Martin glances at the altimeter, and then moves his knight as well. Douglas quickly moves his queen to another diagonal.

“I should. Tell him.” Martin tries the words out as he says them. He moves his pawn to take Douglas’ bishop. 

Douglas moves his queen one more step. “I think so, yes. Also, check mate.” 

What? Martin looks at the board. “Oh.” He didn’t see that. But Douglas is right, there’s no way out of that. “You distracted me!”

“And it worked, too.” Douglas smiles warmly. “Another go?”

“Um...” Now that he’s thinking about it, the nerves are bright in his stomach. “Maybe I should tell Arthur. First. Now.”

“In a rush, are you?” Douglas says it, but then presses the button of the intercom. “Arthur, mind coming in? Martin has some _very special_ news to tell you.” 

Arthur pops in. “Oh, I love it when people tell me things! Is it a secret?”

Martin takes a deep breath. “Yes, actually. A bit. Carolyn knows, and Douglas knows, but you can’t tell anyone else, okay? You have to promise.” 

“Sure!” 

“It’s...” Martin thinks about how to say this so Arthur will get it. It never gets any easier, trying to explain. “I’m a man. You know that, right?”

Arthur nods. 

“Well, I was born differently, and now I take hormones so I can be like this. I’m trans. Transgender.”

Arthur doesn’t look confused at all, the simply nods. “All right!” 

Douglas interjects, “...If you don’t know what that means, you can say so, Arthur.” 

“Oh, but I do.”

Douglas frowns, “ _You_ know?” 

“Yes, or well, I _think_ I do.” Arthur looks at Martin. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I think that it means you were born with the um, the bits, of a girl, and so everyone thought that you were a girl, but really, you were a boy. On the inside. And then you made your body like that, so you could be, you know, all of a boy. A man.” 

Martin can feel some pressure lift of his chest. “Yes, that’s right. Exactly right, actually!”

Arthur smiles triumphantly. “See, I told you I knew!” 

“Did Carolyn tell you that?” Douglas asks. 

“No, Mum sent me to do a course in Ipswich for understanding people? And we had an afternoon for people who said some mean things and were sent there. They made us role-play, but no one else liked it, so I got to do nearly all of them. And I did this one, too, I played the ‘coming out as transgender or queer to your co-worker’ one. The counsellor said I was really good at it, too.” 

“Money well spent, I’m sure.” Douglas sighs. 

But Martin looks at Arthur, his eager, earnest face. And he knows what he wants to do, suddenly. Martin gets up, and then steps around his seat. He opens his arms, feeling a bit silly... 

And hugs him. 

Arthur immediately responds, he holds his arms around him, and says, the words a rumble in his chest, “Aw, skip, I thought that you didn’t like hugs!” 

Martin closes his eyes, his face pressed against Arthur’s breast pocket. _Thank you._ He takes a shivery breath, lets go, and looks up at Arthur. “It’s, ah, I…” He thinks of the flash of fear he felt when Arthur nearly discovered his binder. “I do, actually. And I’m sorry. For not hugging you back for so long.” 

Arthur smiles. “It’s okay, skip! And I’m glad you do, because I love hugging people. It makes me feel all warm and happy, no matter what!”

Douglas pipes up, “ _Yes..._ now that this touching moment is over and done with, Martin, how about some piloting?” 

Oh. Martin moves back into his seat. It’s time to start the landing. 

Arthur goes away, Martin presses the necessary buttons, and then leans back against his seat. His body feels like it’s thrumming with relief. Martin glances at Douglas. “Thank you. For telling me to tell him.” 

“Ah, you’re welcome. As we all know, my advice is _golden_.” 

Douglas checks their bearing. “Chhatrapati Shivaji airport, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, also known as _the sappiest vessel in the sky_ , asking permission for approach and landing?” 

 

-

 

The rush of telling Arthur stays around for a while. So does being close to Douglas, and Martin feels… like he’s bursting open, from the inside, and there’s something bright and good there, flowing over all the things he does. 

It makes him feel brave, too. 

It’s not really on purpose, when the next flight, Martin brushes against Douglas’ side on the way to the galley, but it’s not _not_ on purpose, either. He can feel a brief flash of Douglas’ clothes against his, and Douglas doesn’t pull away, he simply moves around him. Martin feels stunned at himself. 

He did that, because he wanted to. 

Martin keeps a careful eye on Douglas later just to make sure that he didn’t mind, or that he’s not secretly upset, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all. 

The next time Douglas is in the galley and Martin walks past, his heart is already thudding hard in advance. But he does it, he doesn’t fully move out of the way, and neither does Douglas, so this time it’s the side of Martin’s body that brushes past Douglas’. 

It’s warm, and quick, and normal, very normal, Martin knows. 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

Really. 

 

-

 

Two months later, they’re in the middle of nowhere - Kurgan, Russia. Snowed in for the night. 

The small airport smells damp and like old cigarette smoke. Waves of snow are blowing against the windows and blanketing the runway, more so than the clearers can keep up with. Carolyn is on her phone, trying to arrange them a hotel room for the night because there is no way that they’ll be leaving, but her voice has gotten louder and louder, and with each passing insult Martin can see the chances of them sleeping anywhere else decline. Right now she’s saying, “Of course we don’t want your presidential suite if that’s what you’re going to be asking for it, you _imbecile!_ ”

Arthur and Douglas have been gone for a while. 

When they return it’s with a mechanical air pump, four inflatable crocodiles, and a pile of beach towels. “It’s all they had left in the shop,” Arthur explains. 

“And we had to fight an elderly couple for the chocolate. Arthur has a mean body tackle when there’s Toblerone involved.” Douglas has a duty-free plastic bag, and takes out a bottle of vodka, a carton of pineapple juice, plastic cups, and three Toblerone bars. 

Carolyn has ended her call, and she sighs. “You’re right, we’re staying here tonight.” She eyes the bottle, and says, “I’m going to need some of that to sleep in this hell-hole.” 

Martin privately thinks that they’ve stayed in much worse hotels, but he helps Arthur pump up the crocodiles, and then lies down on one. 

The lights don’t go off, not completely, so it’s sort of shimmery dark. They’re watching the snow spin and dazzle downwards through the large windows. Eating slightly stale Toblerone chunks. Both Arthur and Douglas have their pineapple juice straight, but Carolyn has more than a bit of vodka in hers. Martin has some, but not too much. He doesn’t like getting drunk most of the time. 

Still, the bit he had makes him feel warmer. The floor is like ice, and it seeps though to his back and shoulders. Martin can feel the squeak of the plastic under him as he moves. Douglas is talking, saying something about “...and then I danced with her, of course, as you do, but I…” Martin is listening, and not listening, he is here, and also sort of floating. 

He looks around, at Carolyn sitting half-upright against a bench, sipping her vodka with a resolute expression. At Arthur, who’s already half asleep, his stomach going up and down gently. And Douglas, who has trailed off now. 

Martin has to pee. He doesn’t really want to, the bathrooms are on the other side of an endless corridor, but he sits up, and says, quietly, “Going to the loo.” 

He wasn’t really expecting a reply from anyone, but Douglas says, “Yes, why not.” And gets up as well. 

They walk past the long, deserted row of gates. There are a few cabin crew members in one of the lounges, sleeping. A family gathered around a pile of luggage. But it’s mostly empty, almost everyone else knew not to fly tonight, and those who were stranded and had the money got a hotel. 

They walk into the men’s. 

Douglas steps to the urinals. Martin, as always, feels the urge to go stand there next to him. And then the sense of disconnect when he remembers that he can’t. But he’s gotten in the habit of saying things sometimes now, so Martin admits, a little hesitant, “I always wanted to do that.” 

Douglas glances back at him. “Ah, pee standing up? Yes, that would be a classic, I suppose.”

Martin asked Santa for it once when he was eight. He wasn’t sure what he really wanted back then, but to be able to pee standing up sounded right. Mum said it was because he was jealous of Simon, and he got a Barbie doll instead. 

“Aren’t there little gadgets for that sort of thing?” Douglas is standing in front of the urinal, and he touches his trousers to open them. 

Martin is slow to pull his eyes away, it’s like they’re stuck to Douglas’ hand as he opens his zipper. Martin forces himself to look away. “Yes, but they’re hard to use.” 

They don’t catch everything, he’s tried some at home but for travelling it’s too tricky. There’s a type of packer you can pee through, but Martin can’t just do that and then sit with it all day and night on long flights, he’d have to be able to clean it off. 

He really should go himself, now. Douglas is turned fully towards the urinal. Martin can’t see Douglas’… that, but only because he hasn’t started yet. Plus, he’s still talking, “Too bad, you can’t really replace the experience. There’s something satisfyingly _manly_ about it.” 

Martin nods. “Yes.” He feels a bit of sadness, now. 

He turns towards the stalls. 

And then Douglas says, considering, “I suppose I could let you give it a try with mine.” 

Martin turns around. Is he making a joke?! He tries to laugh, but it feels all weird on his face. 

Douglas’ eyes meet his in the mirror. He’s not laughing. 

Martin doesn’t know what to say. He thinks quickly - maybe it’s a trick, and if he says yes Douglas will make fun of him. But Douglas is standing there, waiting. “You… would do that?” 

“Well, it’s a tad on the weird side, I grant you.” Douglas turns around to look at him, and yes, he is holding his, oh, Martin feels a shot of heat just seeing it. “But if you’re really craving the experience, then I don’t see why not. Consider it your birthday present.” 

Martin’s birthday isn’t for another five months. He walks closer without really deciding to, and then checks again, “ _Really?_ ”

Douglas turns around. “Sure, stand behind me.” 

Martin steps close. He doesn’t touch Douglas anywhere, it’s not like that - he tells himself. He just peeks around Douglas’ side. 

Then Douglas takes his hand, looks at him, and puts Martin’s hand on his penis.

It’s like a dream that Martin didn’t know he could have. He’s never touched one before. It feels warm, and soft, softer than Martin thought it would. It feels so alive. So real, Martin feels a rush enough to lift him off his feet just holding it.

“Now aim, not too high.” Martin can hear something strange in Douglas’ voice, too. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” Martin can barely speak for the beating of his heart. 

And then something changes, the softness of what he’s holding becomes a bit harder from the inside, and a moment later there’s pee coming out of it. Martin startles a bit, and tries to aim as well as he can. 

“Lower,” Douglas says. He sounds a bit choked. 

Martin does it, and they both watch Douglas’ pee hit the urinal in a steady stream. Martin can feel something cramp hotly between his legs watching it.

The stream gets less strong soon. It falters, a bit more, and then it’s just drops. Martin feels as if he’s been holding his breath. As if his whole body is alive, as if his own penis twitches, or what feels like it, down there. It’s not even a fantasy come to life, it’s better than one. It’s amazing.

It ends. 

Douglas says, a little hoarse, “Shake.”

Martin does, gently waves it back and forth. Douglas breathes a laugh, takes his hand and gives it a harder shake. 

Martin lets go. 

He steps back, overwhelmed. Still trying to process this, how great it felt, how much like it was _his_. 

“So, was it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Douglas closes his zip, and looks at him. 

Martin wants to hug him, hold his arms around Douglas and never, ever let go. Instead he says, breathlessly, “That was the best thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

Douglas seems flattered. “The best? Well, I do like to please.”

Martin nods. He feels rooted to the spot, standing there. His whole body feels so right, as if it was really him that did that, and he doesn’t want to move and make it change again. 

But Douglas goes to wash his hands. Then says, “Don’t forget to go yourself, it’s a trek out here.”

So Martin breaks the spell, and steps into a stall. He tries not to notice that what is between his legs isn’t at all like Douglas’. He sits down, pees, and when he wipes, it is slick, there. He knows he got excited by doing that. He still is. 

When he comes out, Douglas is waiting for him, looking perfectly normal. As if Martin didn’t just touch him. 

Nothing more happens, too. They go back to the mattresses, and go to sleep, or at least try to - Martin with a deep, warm pulsing inside of him. 

He wasn’t sure before, but he is now. Douglas was right. 

He _is_ in love.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. (Douglas)

 

 

Douglas doesn’t know why he did that. 

He saw Martin’s interest written all over him, Martin’s eyes linger on his crotch, and so Douglas proposed it before he’d even thought it through. 

It wasn’t innocent, though. Oh no, he _wanted_ Martin to touch him. Standing there, then letting go and peeing with Martin’s hand guiding it, it was a kick. A thrill. Something Douglas hasn’t had in a good long while. 

They fly home from Russia the next day, leave from a salted, gritty runway in-between banks of snow, heavy clouds, and some gusts of wind. It’s a tricky rise, a lot of turbulence, and they focus on flying until they’re well into the air. 

Martin yawns, and Douglas asks, “Didn’t sleep too well on the crocodile?” His own back is a field of strained muscle, he’s not sure he slept at all. 

“It was fine.” Martin’s smile is just a tad too soft. Douglas sees it, but he ignores it. No reason to make it more than it is. Just a thing that happened between friends, they both liked it, that’s well enough. 

The blow-up crocodiles are in the back, deflated. “Arthur has taken up a plan to go swimming with them.” Douglas always was a good swimmer. “Fitton has a lido, we could make a day out of it. Might be fun.” He’s taken Verity there more times than he can count. Less, now she’s older and off with her friends in summer.

Martin seems unsure. 

Douglas looks at him. Now he thinks of it, he’s never seen Martin swim. “Not fond of water, are you?”

Martin looks down at his hands. “No.” 

Oh, right. He would have to be half-naked. Douglas considers it. “The water’s cold. You might get away with wearing of those dive suits.” 

Martin seems unconvinced. “Maybe?” 

“Sure you could. Pick one up when we’re in Thailand next week, it’ll be a lot cheaper. Get some fins, too, complete the outfit. We’ll buy a pair for Arthur as well.” Douglas is already thinking of where to get a diving suit in central Bangkok, when he sees Martin’s face. He’s looking at him as if he’s said something unexpectedly wonderful. 

Douglas focuses on the heading. 

 

-

 

Douglas is careful to keep a bit of distance between them after that, but he shouldn’t have worried, Martin doesn’t try a thing. Other than smile at him. Joke, laugh, they have a lot of fun, more than Douglas remembers them having before. 

The four of them stop at an arcade in Brighton and play games. Douglas wins at almost everything, naturally, although Arthur has a surprisingly developed technique at Space Invaders, and Carolyn plays a mean game of air hockey. Martin loses at everything he tries, but, unusually for him, he doesn’t seem to care much. Especially as Arthur wins enough tickets to get a plastic keychain that has a plane on it, and gives it to Martin to make him feel better. 

They fly to Egypt, and take a little detour to fly over the Nile and to see the pyramids from the air. 

When they stop in Bangkok, Martin does buy a dive suit on an epic three hour expedition to the nearest shopping mall through the enormous mess of traffic. Blue fins, a snorkel, and they get a bright neon green set between them for Arthur as well. And then promptly gift it to him on GERTI when he runs into their bags and asks, “Chaps? Are you… did you go _swimming_?” with the saddest tilt to his voice possible. 

So Douglas informs Arthur of the plan of waiting for one of those rare five-and-a-half days of summer in Fitton, and going to the lido. Arthur is predictably in favour, and even Carolyn agrees to come along.

When they do it, on a sunny yet slightly chilly day, they get there early enough that it’s still deserted. Carolyn brought her dog, and Arthur is walking it first, so Douglas acquires some deckchairs for them all while he waits. 

Until Martin comes out of the dressing room with his diving suit zipped up all the way to his chin. Nervously eyeing the other swimmers. 

Douglas strips down to his red Speedos, walks up to him, and says, “Come on, let’s show them what we’re made of.” 

Martin seems still unsure, but he agrees. “Okay.”

Douglas sticks a foot into the water, and the shock of it is bright and ice cold. Actually, he’s having second thoughts, but Martin, to his surprise, does admit, “It’s cold!” but then swims off in a straight, fast line to the other end of the pool in a fast stroke. Martin turns on the wall, and swims back partially underwater. He’s got the technique down, too. 

Douglas wades in, tries to ignore the sting of the cold, and waits until he comes back. “Martin!” Douglas pretends to complain. “You’ve done that before.”

Martin smiles. He’s breathing rapidly, there is water dripping out of his dark and weighted down curls. “Yes. Or well, a little. I was in a club, for a while.” 

_When he was a girl, no doubt._

But looking at Martin, it matters less than he thought. Douglas wants to lift him up, and then throw him into the water, like he used to do with Verity. And hell, why not, Douglas offers, “I’ll give you a boost, come on.” He says it normally enough that Martin doesn’t hesitate, Douglas takes Martin’s foot underwater, and pushes him up as hard as he can. 

Martin falls with a huge splash, and when he surfaces again he’s sputtering and coughing, and laughing in surprise. Douglas follows him to the middle of the pool, and they do it again. They play, and he doesn’t think of how he’s never done this with Helena, how she never even wanted to come here, Douglas just splashes Martin until he shrieks with indignance. Then Martin dives and pulls his leg, not hard enough to pull him under but Douglas pretends it is, and lets himself go. 

After a couple of minutes they’re both leaning on the edge of the pool, shivering and catching their breaths, and Douglas watches drops of water roll off Martin’s face, off his eyelashes, over his lips, as Martin says, “Douglas?” 

“Hm?” 

“Thank you for this. The suit. I never thought...” Martin looks around. “That I could do this. Again. Ever.” 

Douglas feels a hint of pride. He _is_ a rather marvellous friend, isn’t he? 

And that’s when Arthur cannonballs his way in, they get the crocodiles, and there is an epic war on. 

Douglas taps out after a while. He moves a deckchair to a sunny spot next to Carolyn, who is wearing a polka-dot bathing suit and a pair of large sunglasses, and seems perfectly at ease reclined there with her dog in the shade of the chair. She asks, pointedly, “Having fun?”

“Oh, certainly. But there is a point where one leaves the inflatable reptile fights to the younger generation.” Douglas towels off his back. That doesn’t mean he didn’t put up a mean defence, though. He took both of them on for a while there. 

They watch Arthur and Martin chase each other through the pool. Arthur grabs Martin’s waist and lifts him out of the water, tries to put him on his shoulders, but instead they both fall down spectacularly. Martin comes up again laughing. He looks back at them, and Douglas smiles at him. There. Of course he could swim, if he wanted to. 

Carolyn notes, something sharp in her voice, “I’ve never seen him that happy. Martin.” 

Douglas sits down. “Yes, he seems like he’s finding his swing, these days.” 

She looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, but Douglas closes his eyes and projects an air of cool and remote disinterest. 

 

-

 

A week later, they’re in Northern Turkey.

Getting ready to make their back to the airport in a shabby-looking public minibus that feels as if should have been discarded back in the seventies. It’s slowly being filled with more and more people, and, “Oh lord, are those _chickens_?”

“Oooh!” Arthur excitedly moves to sit up front next to the woman holding the woven basket with fowl on her lap. He leaves Douglas and Martin with a space on the back bench that soon gets filled up with a great pile of luggage as more people join them. 

By the time that the van is actually considered full enough to leave, Douglas is sitting sandwiched between a dangerously leaning heap of suitcases, and Martin, balancing himself next to him, just barely on the seat. The driver slides the door closed for them with a large smile, and they’re off. 

It’s terribly uncomfortable. There’s just not enough space, especially as the van takes the bends in the road at breakneck speed. Martin is sitting with one part of his arse on the seat, holding a hand on the door handle, and pulling his weight against it so he can hold on. Douglas’ arm is keeping the luggage from toppling over on them, and his other is stuck between himself and Martin. 

They move through tight, mountainous roads. There’s some chatter, but Douglas can barely hear it over the roar of the opened widows, the air stirring his hair a bit. Martin’s still wearing his hat, and the gold tussle moves in the wind. 

Arthur is attempting to pet the chickens with varying levels of success, and says, “You’re not going to eat them, are you?” 

The woman replies with a long string of Turkish, and a school-aged child translates, “No, eggs first, and then, chicken is old, eat.” 

And then there’s a speed bump, and Martin flies forward, his head knocks against the seat in front of him and he elbows Douglas in the stomach. 

“Ow!” Martin touches his hat and rights it, and then pulls himself against the door again. 

Douglas can feel Martin’s thigh tremble against his own from the pressure he’s putting on his leg not to slide off. And they’ve got an hour more to go. Right. Douglas pulls his arm from between them, and moves it over Martin’s head, to lie over Martin’s shoulders. “Sit on my lap.” 

Martin stares at him. 

“Needs must, and all that. Go on.” 

Martin does, slowly, move to sit on top of Douglas’ legs. It an immediate relief to have more space, Douglas puts his back against the seat, and leans back, keeping his face away from Martin’s neck. 

He tries not to feel the pressure of Martin’s arse. The tickle of Martin’s hair near his lips. When there’s the next speed bump, Douglas instinctively tightens his arm around Martin so he’s staying back and not banging into the seat in front of him again. 

Martin’s breath stutters, and he looks back at him, briefly.

Douglas doesn’t let go immediately. 

As they drive on, Martin relaxes a bit more. He leans back. Douglas’ arm moves lower until it’s around Martin’s stomach. Martin shifts until he’s fully leaning against his chest. He’s blushing, Douglas can feel the heat of it. Sweating, too, they both are. But Douglas can’t help but feel something rather right at it, the shape of Martin against him. 

When they turn into the airport and the van stops, he’s almost regretful. 

Someone slides the door open, and at the sudden burst of cooler air, Martin pulls himself away. They’re almost stuck together, the fabric of Douglas’ shirt and trousers feel damp and heated where Martin was on top of him. Douglas follows him out on stiff legs. His back aches from holding the cramped position. His clothes feel rank. Worse, though... He’s half-hard.

Arthur is already there. He’s saying a busy goodbye to the driver and the children from the front row, and he seems in great spirits despite his shirt sticking to him, the traces of chicken shit on his hands, and a small feather in his hair. “That was _great_ , wasn’t it?” 

Douglas replies, “A full hour of being stuck in there? Yes, one of the highlights of my adventure-filled life, certainly.” But it lacks his usual scorn, he’s aware. 

Douglas glances at Martin, and wonders whether he felt it. 

He can feel the echo of Martin leaning against him for the rest of the flight. 

 

\- 

 

In the days after that, it all becomes rather unavoidable. 

Martin might be the worst at flirting that Douglas has ever seen a person be, but still he gets the message across. Martin touches him. A brush against Douglas’ arm, a touch of his hand, it wouldn’t mean a thing normally, if Douglas didn’t see the expression on Martin’s face when he does it. Some fear, but hope burning underneath. Martin is _asking_. 

In reply, Douglas occasionally puts a hand on Martin’s back when he walks by. Doesn’t move out of the way when he’s near, so they slowly brush together in a moment of near full-body contact. 

Yes, Douglas is up for a thing or two with Martin. 

It’s bizarre, of course, no one would argue that. Douglas is not entirely sure whether the thought of what Martin really is is putting him off, or making it more interesting. Whether this is just because he never could resist a good challenge. Because he’s newly single. 

He tries not to think about how he considered it before, too. Before he knew. 

It’s not like Martin has anyone right now, either. So there’s no reason not to have a little something. A bit of fun. 

They’ve had a particularly entertaining flight, teasing, touching, some betting and laughing. And when they pack it up, close GERTI, and walk through the dark to their cars, Douglas gives it a go. He’s been thinking about how to suggest it, and decided on, “I think I’ll use the loo inside, first.” He nods at the building. There’s a particular disabled stall he’s had his eye on. 

“Oh, okay.” Martin seems as he always does, sad to leave the airfield, but ready to go. 

So, Douglas eyes him, and says, “Unless… well, you _could_ always join me. Get some more practise in.” 

Martin starts. “You mean...?” He makes a face that is somehow supposed to convey what they were up to before. 

Douglas nods, somewhere aware that he’s feeling rather calm about offering to let Martin hold his cock again and _piss for him_. He says, casually, leaving every opportunity for Martin to back out, “If you’re interested, that is.” 

Yes!” Martin says it immediately. And then, more cautiously, “...if you want to.” 

Oh yes, he wants to. “Come on.”

They get into the building with a key that Douglas not entirely stole from Carolyn but perhaps borrowed without her knowledge and then had copied for his own convenience, and make it to the men’s at a rather fast pace without seeing a soul. 

Douglas can feel a shiver travel up his spine. He purposefully didn’t pee earlier, and his bladder is protesting. He’s intrigued to see how it’ll feel the second time around. But he’s also thinking of what exactly they might get up to after, if it gets that far. He’s not sure how far Martin will want to take it. 

Douglas steps into the disabled stall instead of using a urinal, and Martin follows him inside, and closes the door. Douglas grins. He unzips his trousers, and says, “You happy to do the honours?” 

“Yes.” Martin sounds a little breathless. 

Douglas takes his cock out, and yes, he’s been looking forward to this for quite a while – he isn’t fully hard, but definitely on the interested side. Martin has noticed, too, if the sudden widening of his eyes is any indication. 

Douglas turns to the toilet. “Go on.” He really does need to go. In fact, it adds a pleasing element of tension. He can see why it’s a thing for some people. 

Martin stands behind him and, without prompting, reaches out and takes Douglas’ cock in his hand. His touch is careful, but it feels dazzlingly good. “Hm.” He’d better be clear with Martin, Douglas thinks – Martin probably hasn’t had that much experience. Or not with men, if his hesitance is anything to go by. “That’s good.” 

Martin asks, curiously soft, “Really?” 

“Oh, yes.” Douglas prepares to let go and pee, but he’s rather on the aroused side for that now. “It is a tad more difficult like this, though.”

Martin swallows audibly. “When you’re…”

“Interested.” Douglas says it with a glance towards Martin. Martin’s hand on him tightens just a little more. 

Douglas pushes himself to pee to get that out of the way. He can feel the press of it, it’s right there. But Martin’s hand is there, too, his touch, and the contrast is entirely too good. He breathes a bit faster. “ _Ah…_ ” 

Martin lightly touches his glans, and traces a fingertip over it. It’s a mild tickle but suddenly Douglas can’t help but hold it in, and it’s surprisingly _stimulating_. 

“Martin, I will.” Douglas warns him, just in case he’s thinking of doing more. 

“Yes.” Martin sounds so close, so interested, it’s clear that this is doing it for him, too. 

So Douglas breathes out, relaxes, and he pushes, and yes, there it is, a small stream hits the toilet bowl. It’s quite a sensation. He’s even harder now, and he has to keep on pushing to get it out. Martin is practically vibrating with tension behind him, Douglas can feel it, but his hand stays steady. 

They both watch it, breathing carefully. 

When he’s done, Martin gives him a hesitant shake, the way he showed him. And then lets go, and takes a step back. 

Martin, just like last time, seems entirely amazed. He’s flushed. He seems happy, too, Douglas notes. 

Martin sees him look, and stammers, “Thank you.” 

Hm, bless him. Douglas says, slowly, “There’s more to having one of these, naturally...” He puts his hand on his half-hard cock, just enough to get the point across. “If you’re wanting to see what else it can do.” 

Martin opens his mouth. “I...” His eyes are stuck on Douglas’ hand. 

So Douglas slowly runs his fingers over the length of it. Teases himself a bit while looking at Martin, trying to gauge what he wants and whether he’s overstepping. He can still put it back and pretend they never went there. But Martin’s face doesn’t lie, he’s more than fascinated. Wide-eyed, flushed, and Douglas can’t help but focus on Martin’s face over the feeling of his own hand. It’s damn nice to see someone react like that. 

Douglas would be happy to give him a little show, but then he was hoping for rather more, so he asks, “How about a hand?” 

Martin drags his eyes away with some effort, and looks at him with a quick, shameful glance. 

Douglas stops touching himself. “Come here.” 

But Martin, instead of kissing or touching him, steps around him to reach from behind, like he did earlier. Douglas is a tad disappointed. But there’s little to misunderstand in the way that Martin lightly runs his fingers over him, his breath briefly catching in awe. Hm. Douglas turns back towards the toilet. It’ll work just fine like this. 

Martin’s hand is inquisitive, mainly. Soft. He traces Douglas’ skin, running a curious finger over his glans again. Then back over his shaft, down to his pubes, as if he wants to take it all in. 

Martin briefly touches his balls, feels the shape of them, and then seems to shy away. 

So Douglas stills Martin’s hand, takes it, and lets him weigh them in his hand. Roll them a little. Douglas turns his head to look at Martin, and says, “Like this.”

“Oh.” Martin sounds surprised. Clearly turned on, too. 

It’s a bit of an ego boost, standing there with Martin’s hand on him. His full attention. Douglas has rarely had anyone quite this involved in touching his cock. He makes Martin’s hand pull his balls down a little, tighten his grip around them. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” Martin seems eager to know. To learn. 

“No.” Or it does in a good way. Douglas puts Martin’s hand around his cock next, craving the feeling. He moves it back and forth in a steady rhythm. Martin gets it, and he starts getting him off in earnest. 

Martin is leaning into his back in order to reach him, and Douglas can feel something hard push just under his arse that he assumes is Martin’s _attachment_. It’s a strange feeling, one he’s not entirely sure he’s into, but he knew what he was getting, here, so he moves back into a little, meaning, ‘it’s fine’. 

Martin gasps in response. His hand on him stutters. 

Douglas grins, moves Martin’s hand right to the front, and pushes himself into it. He’s fully hard, his foreskin all but retracted, and he can feel his orgasm build already. He hasn’t been this into something in a long time. It’s the strangeness of it, probably. And he hasn’t been with anyone new in years. 

Martin is still touching him reverently. Breathing along with him. Rocking against him with small tremors, and Douglas wonders about turning around and touching him. But then this is what Martin wants to see, obviously. He’ll do him afterwards – whatever he wants. For now, Douglas reaches out behind him, finds Martin’s arse, and pulls him closer. _Go on._

It makes Martin suck in a breath. “Oh!” He sounds stunned. 

“Hm, yes…” Douglas can feel it even better there now, whatever it is - a fake cock, he imagines. It’s bizarre, Douglas is well aware it is. But Martin’s getting off on it, and what’s a little indulgence when he’s about to come _spectacularly_. He makes their hands speed up as he rocks into Martin, Douglas tenses, then gives in to the sweet friction of it... 

...and comes, in long spurts, still aimed over the toilet. _Ah._ Perfect. 

Douglas slows their hands down, milks out just a little more. And then he lets Martin go. 

He takes some toilet paper and wipes his cock off. Then the seat, which he got, too. He puts his clothes back in order, and turns to Martin. “ _Well._ That was fun.” 

Martin’s flushed and bright-eyed, even under the clear bathroom lights. He looks rather delicious. 

Douglas comes closer, and puts a hand on Martin’s side. He slowly runs it down, over Martin’s hip, and then between his legs, to Martin’s sharp inhale. _Now let me do you._

Douglas finds Martin’s zip, but Martin suddenly twists away. “No!” Martin pulls from his grip, and steps back, fast. “I...” Martin breathes. “I’m sorry.”

“Martin, I do have some idea of what I’ll find there.” It’s not like Douglas doesn’t know that he’s still a woman down there, Martin told him that months ago. Or that he hasn’t gotten women off _en masse_ before. Douglas knows what he’s doing, very much so. But Martin seems to be working up to a mild panic, and is looking at him as if he’s forcing himself to. “You can tell me what you want.” Douglas thinks about it. “Or don’t want, I suppose.” That’s more likely to be the thing, isn’t it? 

But Martin shakes his head. “I don’t! I don’t want anything, this was great, it was so good. So I’m, I’m okay.” 

All right. Douglas feels an odd sense of disappointment. He really did plan on returning the favour, however strange it might have been. “You sure?” 

Martin nods, some fear still running over him. “Yes.” 

Fine. Douglas gets out of the stall, and washes his hands. Martin follows him hesitantly. 

Douglas pushes the regret down. Really, it was good, wasn’t it? He purposely throws a lazy smile to Martin in the mirror. “I don’t know about you, but this has to have been one of the top-ten bathroom visits of _my_ year.” 

It works to make Martin smile, at least. He seems somewhat embarrassed, but more at ease now that sex is off the table. 

Douglas checks, “You enjoyed it?” He’s never been the kind of man that does something like this without the other person on board, and if Martin’s not into it then he’ll never suggest it again. 

“Yes.” Martin says it clearly, but he still doesn’t seem like it. 

Maybe he is more into women? Curious about his cock, but nothing more? That’s likely, Douglas thinks. Either way, he won’t push for more. “Well, home it is then.” 

They leave the building, and Martin drives off to god knows where. 

Douglas lies in his empty bed, thinking about it.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. (Martin)

 

 

Martin’s heart doesn’t stop beating fast the whole way home. He can feel it soar in his chest. 

He had sex with Douglas. 

It was so special. Warm. Martin can’t stop his whole body from feeling it, still. Seeing Douglas pee was just as amazing as it was the first time, and then, feeling him get harder in his hand and holding him like that, Martin feels ecstatic even at the thought of it. That, _that_ is what he always wanted.

And Douglas understood that. Something that Martin didn’t even know about himself, and Douglas just knew. 

When Douglas pulled him closer, oh, Martin can feel a flash of heat every time he thinks of that moment. It was perfect. 

Until Martin messed it up. 

He was feeling so good, and then Douglas tried to open his trousers, and suddenly the warm buzz around his body shattered. Martin could feel the strangeness of the packer between his legs. How he was tingling and wanting there, but it wasn’t right. He is not right, his body is _wrong_ , down there.

So he couldn’t. It was stupid, and Martin tears into himself for that. He always thought that if he had the chance to do it someday with just anyone, he would. And now he doesn’t have just anyone, it’s Douglas. 

He should have let him do it.

Martin moves between feeling like he’s floating because of what happened, and feeling ashamed about saying no. 

When he sees Douglas again two days later, right before the next flight, he’s nervous. But Douglas just glances at him for a moment, and then goes on talking to Arthur, and Martin feels calmer straight away. It’s all right. 

They fly to Germany, and play with the passengers, a game that Martin invented, actually, which is ‘predictions of unusual hobbies and facts’. They have a look at them, Arthur goes to chat and tries to find out as many odd details as possible, and then they try to guess what they might have said. Douglas gets fourteen correct guesses, but Martin guesses right that the elderly lady in row three has three schnauzers, and that one of the bearded men is a surfer, so it’s not as if he loses that badly. 

When they land back in Fitton, Martin is a bit nervous that Douglas might ask him along to the toilet again, or even to his home or something like that, but he doesn’t. 

Nor the next time. Or the next.

 

-

 

Martin has been working on another model airplane. 

It wasn’t easy - he had to buy the base model and then alter the shape slightly, so it took a couple of months in between flying and jobs with the van, and more money than he really could afford. But it’s a near-exact replica of GERTI, painted with the MJN logo. 

Martin goes into the office, and sees Carolyn sitting there. 

She’s filling in some forms and barely notices him until Martin steps forward, and says, “Carolyn, I have, ah, a present?” Martin decided he would do this a long time ago, but he feels a bit nervous now. He talks on quickly, “I made it myself, and I thought that maybe it would look good in the office, or, it doesn’t have to, I just...” Martin gives Carolyn the plane. 

She looks it over, frowns, and then looks at him. “And what have I done to receive this?”

“Well... you hired me.” Martin clears his throat. “Two years ago today, actually.” And he will never, ever forget that. These past two years have been the best of his life. “No one else would. So, thank you. For that.”

Carolyn sighs. “Martin, I didn’t hire you out of the grand goodness of my heart, I did it because you’d work for free.” 

It doesn’t matter. Or it does, Martin really could use more money, but, “I would never have been able to fly without MJN. Be the captain, or well, be any kind of pilot at all. No one wanted me. Or will want me. Someone who is the way I am. I do know that.” 

Carolyn looks at him, and then considers. “Martin, I am an old woman.” 

Martin blinks. He knows well enough to never, ever agree with that statement. 

“But you don’t see me that way. Most people don’t, because I am also the C.E.O. of an airline.”

Oh. That’s true. 

“I was a stewardess for twenty years and then a stay-at-home mother, I was never going to be a C.E.O. of anything bigger than a sweet shop. But I am now, because I didn’t let anyone tell me that I couldn’t. So don’t let anyone tell you, either.” She looks at him piercingly. “Ever. Someday you _will_ get a job outside of MJN, because you are a pilot first, and everything else doesn’t matter. Do remember that.” 

Martin doesn’t know what to say. Carolyn has never said anything like that to him. 

She turns back to her forms. “Now go wrangle Arthur, he’s found a harmonica and the sound has been driving me crazy.”

“I… will.” Martin leaves, with a last look. 

He wanted to give Carolyn the plane because she never said anything. Because she just let him work and never, not once in two years, mentioned it. And Martin had thought that she didn’t know what to say all that time. But maybe she did. 

The next time Martin is in the office, Carolyn has bought a stand for the plane, and displayed it right at the front of her desk. 

 

-

 

They fly to Miami again.

Martin has been dreading it for weeks because he knows that there’s probably going to be another body scanner. He feels sick even thinking about it. 

When they stand in line, Douglas suddenly disappears, and comes back with a large black dreadlocked woman in uniform who he tells, “This is Martin.” And she looks at him knowingly. 

Martin goes first, this time, and Douglas is right behind him. The man at the control panel glances at them, and the woman says, “I’ve got him.” 

Martin follows her to the little curtained off stall with burning cheeks and a sinking feeling of shame. So Douglas told her? Or he might have bribed her to let him through, but that doesn’t make it any better. Martin can take care of himself, and Douglas had no right to do that!

Once they’re in there, the woman turns to him, and smiles. “Oh, darling, no need to look afraid! Douglas didn’t tell you?” She reaches out a hand. “I’m Laquita. Also known as George, up until ten years ago. Nice to meet you.” 

...Oh. Martin shakes her hand. Oh, so that’s why… He looks at her. “You’re friends with Douglas?” Martin can barely believe it. 

“No, but he knows my husband, Ray? He’s a pilot for American Airlines. Douglas called us last week, and I’m only too happy to. Really, any time you’re in this airport, all right?” 

That’s nice of her, but Martin still feels tense. “Do you need to pat me down?” She can do it, he tells himself. She’s friendly, and she knows, so that should be okay, it will be better than someone else. A lot better. But Martin still doesn’t want to be touched, not over his chest, not between his legs, he can’t, he... Martin breathes. 

“Well, that depends.” She grins. “You smuggling anything in there?” 

Martin remembers Douglas asking that, a long time ago. He tries to joke back at her. “Nothing more than you’d, ah, expect me to?” 

She laughs, loudly. Then says, “If anyone asks, you got a pat-down, all right?” 

Martin feels relief, but also... well, it’s not safe? People really could smuggle things like this! But then the only reason he even sets off the scanner is because they can see that his body shape is wrong, and that there is no body part between his legs, and that isn’t fair. He nods. 

She goes with him to get his bag, and waves them off. “See you next time you’re down here, Martin!” 

Douglas asks, on the way outside, “Did it go all right in there?”

Martin feels unsure still about Douglas doing that, calling someone up for him. But also as if he could hug him. “Yes, it was, yes.” He swallows. “Thank you.” 

“Hm.” Douglas grins. 

 

-

 

Martin thinks about it a lot, what it felt like to have sex with Douglas. Whether he wants to do it again. What it might feel like if he would let Douglas…

Martin keeps on thinking back to the feeling when they were in the minibus in Turkey. Sitting on Douglas’ lap. The brush of Douglas’ lips against his neck. The slightly scratchy touch of Douglas’ cheek. The individual points of pressure from Douglas’ fingers against Martin’s stomach, the heat of his palm though his shirt. The just-there pressure of what Martin knew was Douglas’ penis, and that felt amazing, it made him feel bright flashes of want, _there_. His underwear was wet, after. 

His body wants that. 

And Douglas wanted to once, so maybe he’ll want to again. All he has to do is ask. 

Martin vows to do it right this time. He won’t say no, he won’t pull back, he won’t be afraid. Other people do this, he knows. Other people like him manage just fine - Laquita said she had a husband, even. So he can do this. 

And then they’re in Milan. 

It’s a late evening, they check in, and Martin is dragging his carry-on over the carpeted hallway, lagging behind Arthur. He has been looking at Douglas all day, trying to gather the courage to ask him about staying in his room instead of Arthur’s, but he just hasn’t found the words. And now they’re about to go to their rooms, and it’s too late. 

Martin is trying not to be too disappointed, when suddenly Douglas says smoothly, “In case you want to drop by.” and slips him a small, plastic square. His room key. 

Martin can feel his cheeks heat up. Oh! 

Douglas disappears into his room with a grin, and Martin is left staring long enough that Arthur says, “Come on, they might have mints on the pillows!”

Martin follows Arthur into a cramped, carpeted room. He unpacks his things, and Arthur gets into the bathroom. 

Martin sits down on the bed. He isn’t sure how long he should wait. Until Arthur’s asleep? Or should he go right now? He gets up again. Walks around the room. Looks out the window. No, he should wait. 

It’s… this feels like the chance he has to do this, to be with Douglas, and if he doesn’t take it it’ll all just disappear and it’ll never have been anything at all. It’s been almost two weeks since they had sex in the bathroom of Fitton airport and Douglas hasn’t asked him for anything since. Because he thinks that Martin doesn’t want to, or because he doesn’t, Martin doesn’t know. 

He waits a couple more minutes, and then yells, “Arthur, I’m off for a bit, okay, I’ll be back soon!” 

Arthur replies, muffled from in the shower, “Okay, skip!”

Martin leaves, and stands in front of Douglas’ door. He knocks, takes a deep breath, and then uses the key card, opens the door, and says to the empty room, “Hi?”

“In here.”

Douglas has opened the bathroom door a crack, and steam rolls out of it into the cooler room. Martin can smell his shower gel. He walks closer, until he can see inside just enough to see Douglas’ mostly naked body, and the towel he has around his hips. 

It’s amazing to see him like this. Douglas has a broad back and shoulders. His middle is all soft. Martin wants to walk over there and wrap his arms around him, but instead he stands in the doorway, and imagines a world where he could really do that. Where Douglas would smile at him, if he did. Where Martin could press his face to Douglas’ back, and close his eyes, and feel whole. 

The thought shatters when Douglas says, “I never asked, do you grow a beard?” He is putting on shaving foam.

“A little.” Martin tried to let it grow for a while once but it looked strange on his face. “I don’t like the way it looks, though.” 

“Hm, agreed. I sported one in the eighties for a while, the pictures are not entirely flattering.” 

Martin smiles at the thought. He watches as Douglas drags the razor over his cheek, washes the foam off, and then goes again. Douglas is obviously okay with him watching, but Martin doesn’t know what else to say. Or how to ask for more sex. Or for anything, really. So he stands there, waiting. 

Douglas finishes shaving, and washes his face off. Then dries it. 

When Douglas turns around, Martin can see his front, and he feels a tingle of excitement. He’s seen Douglas like this before, in the pool, but he wasn’t really allowed to look then. Douglas has hair all over his chest and his belly, grey and curling. 

Douglas comes close, and Martin reaches out and touches him, carefully. Douglas is so good looking. Martin wishes he was like that. _Anything_ like that. Even just a tiny little bit. 

Douglas watches him, and says, “You like that, chest hair?”

Martin isn’t sure. He has never touched someone like this, or seen it up close. He runs his hand curiously over Douglas’ chest, then down over the heavy curve of his belly, and back up again. He dares to say, “Yes.” 

“Manly, is it?” Douglas’ voice is doing something strange. Martin looks up at him, and thinks about maybe kissing him, but then he’s not sure if he can. If Douglas would like him to. Maybe he can touch him again with his hand? But no, what he needs to do is let Douglas touch him. 

Martin suddenly feels sick thinking of that. Letting Douglas put a hand between his legs. 

Douglas sees, because he asks, “Martin, what exactly do you want here?” 

He doesn’t know. Sex? What people do in bed together. Martin does know how it works, so it can’t be that hard. Plus, Douglas will know how to do it. But Martin can’t say it, or ask for it, it’s like all the words are stuck in his throat. 

He looks in the direction of the bed.

Douglas follows his look, and smiles. “Well, that’s a start.” 

Martin walks over there. He feels strange, as if he’s watching himself in a film, and he’s worried for how it’ll turn out for film-Martin. He sits down on the bed. 

Douglas sits next to him, and Martin puts his hand on Douglas’ leg, and then upwards, until he finds Douglas’ penis under the towel. Douglas pulls the towel out of the way. Douglas’ skin feels warm and a little damp from the shower still, and his penis does, too. It’s very soft. Martin traces his fingertips over it slowly. It feels amazing.

He can see the hairs of Douglas’ chest up close, and his small nipples. The large round curve of Douglas’ belly between them. 

Martin feels an ache all over his body, looking at Douglas like this. _He_ wants to look like that. 

He wants to sound like Douglas, he wants to have a penis like Douglas, and the hair, the confidence, everything. He would be perfect, if he was like Douglas. And compared to him, Martin feels so small. So much of nothing. 

Douglas can see him looking, and says, “I’m sure you could do better, but then this is convenient, isn’t it?” 

What does he mean? “Better?” 

“Well, I say _better_ , what I mean is more suited to you – younger? Or the same as you, if that’s your thing, is it other transsexuals you’re into?” 

Martin breathes. “I... don’t know.” He’s met a few other people like him, Laquita, and when he goes to the doctor, or when he had to do therapy, there were usually other people in the waiting room. They seemed okay. But they weren’t, it’s not, they were just people, it’s not like Douglas. 

“Or women? Were you a bit of a lesbian back in the day?” 

“…No.” Martin can feel the courage leave him, now. He stops touching Douglas. He feels so useless. He doesn’t know what he’s into. He doesn’t know anything, and Douglas doesn’t know that yet, but he will. Martin is _wrong_ , in so many ways. He should be so happy to finally be here, on a bed with Douglas. But Martin is wearing all of his clothes still, and Douglas isn’t touching him, probably because he thinks that he can’t, and it all feels so terrible. 

Martin doesn’t know what to do, or what to want. He forces himself to say, “You can touch me.” 

Douglas immediately reaches out, and puts an arm around him. Douglas touches Martin’s hair, his neck, his shoulders, and pulls him a little closer. 

It feels good. It really does, to be touched like that. So Martin starts opening the buttons of his shirt. 

Douglas lets go of him so he has more space to move. Martin takes his shirt off. He’s wearing a binder that’s integrated into a top, so he isn’t showing anything, but it still feels really naked. 

Martin looks at Douglas. What will he think? Martin knows he’s not sexy, or manly. He’s just... nothing. 

But at his look, Douglas puts a hand between his legs, grins, and says, “Do go on.” Oh. Is Douglas enjoying that, watching him? Martin can’t imagine. 

He takes his shoes and socks off. Opens his belt. Then stands up so he can step out of his trousers. Douglas is still following along. Martin is in his pants, now. He should take them off. But he can imagine Douglas’ look when he sees the packer and the black straps holding it in place. Douglas won’t want to see that. It’s odd. It’s not real. 

So Martin glances at Douglas, and then turns around. He quickly pulls his pants and the straps of his packer all down over his hips, and he steps out of them. Leaves them on the floor. 

He feels cold, now. 

He’s shaking, and he feels like crossing his arms over himself and holding on. Like crawling under the covers and hiding. 

But Douglas says, gently, “Martin.” And then, “Come here.” 

Martin breathes, turns around, and doesn’t look at Douglas, just sits down on the bed, fast. There’s a dip in the middle of the bed from where Douglas is sitting, so Martin’s hip leans against him. 

Douglas lies down, and pulls him along to lie down, too. Martin does, and then they’re close enough that Martin’s nose brushes Douglas’s neck. Their legs bump together. Their arms, and chests. Douglas’ warm, a bit sticky penis bumps against Martin’s bare leg, which feels weird. But Douglas holds him, and it’s nice. Martin closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, all his skin against all of Douglas’. It is a really special feeling, so bright, and warm. 

Martin breathes out, and relaxes a bit. He hides his face against Douglas’ shoulder. 

Douglas’ hand comes up to trace his hair. For a long moment, Martin feels happy. It’s so quiet. It feels just right. Martin can feel the rumble of Douglas’ voice gather in his chest before he hears his voice, “We’ll do nothing more than what you want, all right?” 

Martin nods. He’s not sure if Douglas can feel it. He lets him go a little, leaves some space between them, and Martin’s hand finds Douglas’ penis again. Martin likes that, touching Douglas. The feeling of it. 

Douglas’ hand curves on Martin’s hip. Martin can feel it lying there, hot and sure. 

Martin moves his own hand over Douglas’ penis, up and down. Then down to his balls, the way Douglas said he liked. Martin remembers exactly how to do it, and it Douglas smiles at him. He is getting harder. 

And then Douglas’ hand moves from Martin’s hip, to push under his top, and Martin can feel a tense spike of nerves at it and he falters. 

“No?” 

Douglas’ hand waits there. The touch of Douglas’ fingers against his belly button is warm, and a bit tickly. And if he can’t deal with that then he won’t be able to deal with anything, Martin thinks, so he says, “It’s okay.” 

But Douglas pulls his hand away anyway. He moves it over Martin’s shirt instead. He lays it on Martin’s stomach over the fabric, and that feels better, less close. But then up, higher, over Martin’s ribs, higher, until he, oh - Martin can feel his nipples tighten so fast it almost hurts - thumbs a nipple though his binder. 

Douglas pulls it a little, and there’s a hot sort of ache that comes along with it. 

Martin didn’t know he could feel that there. Douglas moves his other hand there, too, and traces his nails over the fabric. He reaches the other nipple, and Martin moves his head back, he can feel heat suddenly clench between his legs. “ _Oh!_ ” 

Douglas chuckles, low. “Hm, good, right?” 

Martin looks at Douglas. He’s not sure if it’s good, it’s much more than he thought it would be. It’s all he can feel, even when Douglas just holds his hands there, on his chest. Over his _breasts_ , Martin thinks, and then that word makes him feel a slow tilt, like he’s being pushed outside of himself, like some force pulls him away. 

Douglas’ hands are going down again, slowly, over his ribs. Back over his belly, over his hip, and then lower. 

Martin gets what he should do, now. But he’s not sure he wants to. The testosterone treatments have made him bigger, there, the round nub between his legs, and he never thought that anyone would see, but... His nipples still ache. He feels warm there, though, so he takes a breath, and opens his legs. 

He’s scared. 

Douglas’ fingers tickle down gently. It’s strange, mainly, to feel someone else’s hand there. Martin’s body is fluttering, twitching, even though Douglas is only touching him where he has hair. And then Douglas’ fingers move in between, and Martin feels a bright, too-much tingle that he forces himself not to pull away from. 

Douglas is still looking at him closely as he traces little circles there, and then moves his fingers lower. “Yes?” 

Martin nods, even though he doesn’t know what he’s asking. 

Douglas’ fingers push inside of him. He’s careful, but it feels odd. A bit painful. Like pressure, mainly. Martin tilts his hips, and Douglas moves his fingers slowly in and out. He feels full, like that. Weird. 

Douglas is looking at him as if _he_ likes this, as if he thinks that this is great. 

Martin suddenly can feel the hard shape of Douglas’ erection against his leg, and he feels guilty, because he forgot all about that. Martin reaches out, and takes Douglas’ penis in his hand. 

Douglas sighs, a long sigh, and moves, too, so Martin can reach him better. 

Martin focuses on the feeling of Douglas in his hand. The soft skin, and how it feels, how it smells, so he doesn’t have to feel Douglas’ fingers inside of him. Doesn’t have to hear them, because Douglas moves them a lot, out of him, higher, between all the folds and bits he has there and then inside again, and it sounds... wet. 

Martin suddenly shakes when Douglas touches something, and Douglas does it again and again, he rubs his fingers there. It feels so sharp that Martin hates it, so he tilts his hips so Douglas will go lower again. Douglas does, and his fingers push inside. It hurts. Martin doesn’t know which feeling he thinks is the worst, but this one he can ignore better. 

He moves his own hand on Douglas, and thinks that maybe it’ll be done soon if he does that well. He tries to focus on making it good, and he uses his other hand, too, one on Douglas’ balls and one on the front. 

It works, Douglas says, “Oh, Martin, slower, or this will have a rather _speedy_ ending.”

Martin keeps on going. He pulls Douglas off fast and hard. 

It still takes what feels like a long time until Douglas sighs, and there’s something hot and wet and slimy on his hand that takes Martin a moment to realise what it is. 

It’s done, now. 

He lets go of Douglas. He feels shaky. Cold, still. 

But Douglas doesn’t stop. The fingers inside of Martin spread, and one goes higher to find the tense spot, so it’s both at the same time. Douglas leans over him so he can mouth a nipple, and Martin can feel his back tilt, his whole body tense, and he can’t, he just can’t... “No!”

Douglas immediately stops, and looks at him. “What? Does it hurt?”

“No.” Martin is breathing fast. If Douglas touches him any more like this, one more moment, he feels like he’ll crawl out of his skin and never, ever have it again. “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I, no, I can’t, I…” 

Douglas pulls his fingers out of him, just puts a hand on his shoulder, and says, “Hey, it’s all right.” 

But Martin can hardly hear him. He gets up from the bed fast, and that’s a head rush, he feels as if he’s going to pass out for a moment. He takes his clothes from the ground and puts them on again, quickly. 

Douglas stands up, too. “Martin? What is it?” 

Douglas reaches out to touch him, but Martin steps away from his hand. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Martin doesn’t look up. He’s lying, but he doesn’t know why it wouldn’t have been fine, why it wasn’t fine, that’s what it is, right? Sex. That was it. “Thank you.” 

He leaves the room with his shoes still untied. 

 

-

 

Martin is in the shower. 

He can barely feel the spray hitting his shoulders. Or feel anything, besides a slow quietness. As if everything is very far away.

Eventually, when it seems like it was long enough, Martin gets out, and towels off. He wipes between his legs, and then suddenly stops and stares. The white towel has a bright red spot blooming on it. 

He feels confused - he hasn’t had a period in a very long time – but then he can feel a crawling type of pain inside of him, and realises. That’s what happens, when it’s the first time. 

To women. 

Martin wraps the towel around his hips so that the bloodstain is on the inside, and puts his binder on again with shaking hands. The fabric sticks to his wet skin, but he needs it on, _now_. 

He goes into the room. Arthur is there, but Martin doesn’t look at him, he takes the small, black case from his flight bag - he’s not sure why he kept it in there for so long, but he’s glad he did. 

He goes back into the bathroom, and sticks a pad onto underwear that isn’t made for it. Martin wears boxers, now. The straps of his packer are right there too, and maybe they’ll get blood on them, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. Martin pulls his boxers up, pyjama bottoms, top, and it’s only after all of that that he looks in the mirror. 

He looks normal. A bit pale, and wet, still, with big eyes, but normal. 

Martin cleans everything up. He puts the wrap of the pad in the bin under toilet paper, then rolls the towel over the blood spot and puts it in a corner on the floor. 

And then, when there’s nothing more to do, he steps out into the room and gets straight into bed. He pulls the covers over him, and then that feels so good he pulls them all the way to his ears. He bends his knees and holds them, so he’s a ball of a person. 

He can feel the pad bend and crinkle in his underwear. The packer feels out of place, now, not right. 

“…Martin?” 

Oh, Arthur has been talking to him. 

Arthur is crouched next to the side of his bed, looking at him. “Martin, what is it - are you all right?” He sounds so worried. Martin distantly wonders why. 

“Do you need a hug?”

No. Martin can feel himself tense just at the thought of it. 

“I can call Mum, if you want me to?” Arthur seems to be near tears. “Or I have some chocolate still, or... anything? At all?” 

Martin tries to find the words. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.” Arthur seems like he doesn’t believe him, and he’s about to protest, so Martin adds, “Arthur, just... let me sleep. _Please._ ” 

The light goes out a short while later.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. (Douglas)

 

 

Douglas lies awake for longer than he’d care to admit, thinking over what happened. He did this all wrong, he’s sure. He’s only not sure of how he did it wrong. He _asked_ , he asked Martin what he wanted before every single thing he did. And Martin seemed anxious, but also as if he wanted it. 

Up until the end, when he ran away. 

If they can salvage their friendship it’ll be a miracle, Douglas thinks. 

He does eventually fall asleep, because he wakes up to a double knock on the door. Douglas grumbles, thinking it’s room service, “Yes?”

But it’s Martin who uses his key card to open the door. Already dressed. “Oh, hi, sorry, I didn’t know you’d still be asleep…” He frowns. “But we do need to leave in fifteen minutes, so…”

Douglas sits up. “I’m awake.”

He wants to ask how Martin is, but Martin speaks first, fast and nervous, “I’m so sorry, Douglas. I was, I don’t know, I don’t know what I was, but please don’t…” He takes a breath. “Please don’t be angry.” 

Douglas finds it hard to watch. “I’m not _angry_.” He’s not sure what he is, but angry definitely isn’t it. 

Martin shakes his head, and continues, “I can’t, I wanted to try, but I don’t… I don’t think I like it.”

Yes, Douglas got that much. He opens the covers, and puts his legs out of the bed. He’s only wearing pants, but then Martin’s seen more than that, hasn’t he? Douglas looks at him. “…Martin, you didn’t _have_ to.” Part of Douglas wants to say, ‘you don’t have to ever again’, but that’s hardly his promise to make. Should he say that he’ll never touch him again? What is that Martin wants to hear? “And _I_ am sorry. For making you feel...” whatever it was. 

Martin doesn’t accept it though, he says, “Oh no, It’s not you. You’re great, you’re amazing, it’s me.”

Yes, sure. Douglas sighs. “Either way, we shouldn’t have, and we’ll never do it again.” Martin looks like he wants to argue that, but no. “I’ll get dressed. We have to be at the airport in half an hour.” That stops him. 

 

-

 

In all it’s a fairly peaceful flight. Martin seems eager to act as if everything’s fine, and Douglas lets him. They can forget all about it, it was a bad idea from the start - obviously. 

He’s on his way to the loo when he is intercepted by a rogue Arthur. “Douglas, I need to have a talk with you!” He sounds serious. 

Douglas shrugs. “I’m always up for a chat, certainly.” 

“About Martin. It’s... you had sex last night.”

 _Ah._ In that case, he’s somewhat less eager to talk. Douglas looks Arthur over. “And how did you figure that out exactly?”

“He went to your room and then he came back with his clothes all undone. It was obvious, really.” 

To anyone else who might have noticed that, yes. Still, “Well spotted, I suppose.” 

But Arthur isn’t finished. “It’s fine that you did, I mean, sex can be brilliant. But it has to be good for him, too, otherwise you shouldn’t do it, and if you’re hurting him...” Arthur stands up as tall as he’ll go. “Douglas, I won’t allow you to!”

Douglas sighs. “As much as I’m sure Martin appreciates the Arthur-the-protector routine, I am perfectly fine not going where I am not wanted, don’t worry.” 

“Oh.” Arthur deflates. “Then what happened? Because he looked so sad afterwards.” 

Douglas remembers just fine what Martin looked like. He feels a pang of guilt. “If you want to know the sordid details, talk to Martin.” In fact, that might be a good idea, give Martin someone to confide in. “But rest assured: it won’t happen again.” 

 

-

 

Douglas goes home to his empty house, and considers his many and varied mistakes in life. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s disappointed a woman. Or man, partner, something like that - Martin is a lot of things, a woman not exactly. But disappointed all the same, Douglas suspects.

The house seems to echo. Douglas goes shopping, and buys too much. He cooks, and doesn’t know how to make a portion for one. He tries to clean, and has no idea where the hoover is. 

He spends sleepless nights in his empty bed. He rolls and stretches and fights the blankets and the mattress and the thought that if he would have some of that bottle of Talisker stowed away in the kitchen cupboard right now, no one would ever know.

Douglas thinks about Helena. 

They hadn’t been doing well for years before she left. Life didn’t turn out the way she wanted it. He promised her something grand, and they ended up living here, in Fitton. With him pretending to be a captain in a tiny airline. With her alone here, while he was gone. In truth, Douglas was rather gone than home for years before this happened. 

Maybe he’s always been. 

It’s probably strange that she stayed as long as she did, then. He should be grateful, part of middle-age spent in the quiet comfort of marriage. Someone to share a bed with, a body to move against. Familiar lips and arms and the feeling of her nightgown against him. The scent of her hair. 

Douglas can’t blame her for finding someone else. He always wanted better, too. More. He just thought it wasn’t there. It wasn’t to be found. 

If Helena could see him now she’d be laughing, Douglas thinks. Disgusted, possibly, that he did that with Martin. 

 

-

 

Their next flight is to Australia, because it figures that after something like that they’re forced to spend thirty-six hours in a tin can together. Douglas even considers calling in sick, but then he knows what that would do to MJN. There is no way that Martin can take those flights on his own. He’d probably try, too, which gives Douglas a vision of Martin falling asleep and crashing, so no, he goes into work. 

Martin is already in GERTI. Sitting there, filling in the flight plan, his hat sagging over his head a little. He hasn’t heard Douglas come in yet. “Martin?”

Martin nearly drops his papers, and then looks back. “Hello.” 

He seems unsure, but not upset, at least. And right, operation ‘back to normal’ is a go. Douglas works up a smile, and says, “I brought…” he pauses significantly, raises an eyebrow for effect, “…a _lemon_.” 

They play for a few hours. 

Carolyn is in the lead with eight passes when Douglas ventures out into the cabin in search of the elusive citrus, and gets stopped by Arthur in the galley. Again. “Douglas?”

Douglas looks over Arthur’s shoulder to see whether he’s being intercepted on purpose because Carolyn is still hiding it, but she’s sitting in the last row, leafing through a magazine about dog grooming. Their passengers seem to be asleep. 

Arthur whispers, “I was thinking...”

“ _Yes_ \- do you want something for that?”

“...that maybe you can try to do something else with Martin. When you’re having sex. Because he does really like you, and you like him.” Arthur seems like he’s given it some serious thought. 

Douglas, on the other hand, has rarely been less interested in continuing a conversation. “Arthur, I can tell you that I have satisfied many a woman in my time, more than you. _Hundreds_ more, in fact, so I can do without the sex tips, thank you.” 

“Yeah, but, and I’m not saying you haven’t, but for example: have you tried to call Martin ‘captain’ when you’re in bed? Because I think that he would really enjoy that.” 

Douglas suppresses a wince. “He _would_ , wouldn’t he?” Martin might spontaneously combust if he pulled that. Or think he’s mocking him, more likely. 

Douglas glances at Carolyn, and wonders whether she knows, too. He’s not sure whether he feels ashamed, exactly, but it’s not something he’s too eager to let anyone know, either. Especially because it went badly, and he imagines that she might have a thing or two to say about that as well. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Arthur, I have a lemon to find.” 

Douglas walks through the aisle, and tries to stay on the look-out for any flashes of unexpected bright yellow. But his mind is distracted. 

And yes, when he walks past Carolyn, she gives him a glance over her magazine, and says, casually, “If I hear anything about you hurting Martin again you’ll have to deal with me instead of my well-meaning son.”

Douglas fights the urge to scream. “Have an opinion on what I should do as well, do you?”

“No.” Carolyn calmly looks at him from behind the cover advertising ‘Ten tricks to teach your poodle’. “I have the power to fire you and I’d use it.”

Douglas feels another flash of guilt. He admits, “You know I didn’t mean for it to go like that.”

Carolyn sighs. “I figured as much, yes.” She looks back down at her magazine and orders, “Just - fix it.” 

Douglas nods. He will.

He continues the search for the lemon, which is entirely unsuccessful until he remembers to check the top of the flight deck door, and finds it wedged there. 

 

-

 

Six hours later, GERTI is greeted by the Australian dawn. 

Martin is lying with his head tilted back in his chair, and his mouth half-opened. He doesn’t snore, but he does drool. 

Martin’s shirt is a little crooked, and Douglas can see the edge of his collar bone, and the pale, freckled skin of his neck. Martin’s jaw has the tiniest trace of stubble. 

Douglas keeps on looking at it.

It’s not lust he’s feeling when he sees Martin’s - non-existent - curves. 

It’s not like the short work things he’s had in the past, either. No quick getting off in a bathroom, the way he’d tried to have it be with Martin at first. It doesn’t quite fit. 

Douglas sees Martin’s eyelashes, they’re a faint shadow on his cheekbones. The frailty of him in sleep. _Held together with gaffer tape and patches,_ Douglas remembers thinking. 

He doesn’t know how. To fix it. 

 

-

 

An hour later, Douglas spots the Sydney Opera House, very small on the ground below, and says, “Martin.” 

Martin blinks his eyes open, and looks at him with a small smile that slowly disappears as he sits up. “Where are we?” 

Douglas points to the ground. “Take a wild guess.”

“Oh!” Martin looks at the city. And says, entirely predictably, “I know we said you would do it, but I’m awake now, so can I take the landing?”

“Hmm,” Douglas pretends to doubt, “it’s not in the flight plan.” He doesn’t care one way or another. Actually, he’d rather watch Martin get excited over doing it, but he can’t just give in, that would be out of character. 

“I know, but…” Martin considers. “I’ll, um, I’ll buy you breakfast, when we’ve landed?” 

“A bold offer. I would have settled for a drink, but yes, a bacon and egg pie it is, you have control.” 

Martin smiles, and lands them. Admittedly, rather clumsily, but then Douglas has given up on caring about that. It adds a certain sense of spice to his life, too, never being sure when he’ll have to hang on for dear life when Martin suddenly drops them a few feet. Plus, he is getting better, a year ago Martin wouldn’t even have fought him on the landing. 

They park, and get out of the plane. 

Carolyn guides their passengers through security, and tries to keep Arthur from showing off his ‘Australian accent’ to the officers and horribly offending them in the process. 

Douglas hangs back a bit. He always goes behind Martin, now, in case he needs to interject. He says to the guard, “I’d tell you that I’m not with them but then I’d be lying. Douglas Richardson, terribly sorry.” The woman laughs at least, charmed, but Douglas keeps an eye on Martin to make sure they let him through. 

Once they’ve dropped the passengers off, Douglas sidles up next to Carolyn and says, “These are your old stomping grounds, aren’t they? How is it being back?” 

She sighs. “In a country where every single man sounds like my arse of an ex-husband? Forgive me when I’m not overly thrilled.” 

“Is Dad, um, here? Somewhere?” Arthur is looking around as if he’s expecting to see Gordon around every corner. 

“He lives an hour away from Sydney, so no, I wouldn’t expect him to be here, exactly. However, if you mean whether he’s in the general hemisphere, then sadly, I would assume so.” Carolyn obviously has to force herself to say the words, but she does, “You could go see him, if you wanted to.”

Arthur starts. “Oh. Oh.” He looks around. “No, that, that… would be hard, wouldn’t it?” 

Arthur looks at Douglas, and Douglas has a good idea what he wants him to say. “Oh, not _terribly_ difficult, obviously… but we do need our eight hours of sleep.” 

Martin picks up on it. “Yes, we all do need to sleep before we fly back, Arthur, it’s important. Rules and regulations, you know.” 

Not that that matters to Arthur, since he isn’t even officially an employee, and he spent a good portion of the flight asleep in the back row. Douglas suspects that what they’ll really do is eat and hang around the hotel, but the relief on Arthur’s face is tangible. 

Carolyn says, “Then I don’t think it’ll work out this time, my dear. I’m sorry.”

Arthur instantly perks up. “No, that’s okay!” 

“There’s always another time,” Douglas says philosophically. And then, “Now who’s up for breakfast? Because I’m _starving_.” With a grin to Martin. 

 

-

 

After Australia, Douglas takes the bottle of Talisker out of his kitchen cupboard, and looks at it. 

He puts it on eBay. 

And then he googles, because - god help him - Arthur has a point. He can do better.

Douglas feels uneasy looking at page after page of strap-ons, but he does it. Porn is a bit harder to find, not that much of a market for it, apparently, but he does find some - men that used to be women, with another man. 

Mainly, Douglas ends up looking at the faded scars on their chests. It looks painful. He can see why Martin would choose not to do that. 

The men pumping their cocks don’t leave him fully unaffected, Douglas has never been completely against watching that sort of thing. Nor doing it to other men, occasionally. He finds one he likes, a man going on his knees for the one who’s wearing the strap-on. Licking it, as if he means it. As if it’s real. They all treat it as if it is, jerking it off as they get it on, it all seems… unnecessary. 

Not undoable, though. 

 

-

 

Then there’s Namibia. 

They’ve just landed in Windhoek airport and they’re cruising along the runway, when Martin makes a funny sound, and says, a reverent tone in his voice, “That’s it! It’s here. That’s their Douglas DC-6B V5-NCG!”

Douglas looks at it. It’s one of the many planes that are his namesake – really, his parents should have seen this ‘piloting thing’ coming. He doesn’t recognise the tail shape, but yes. “Looks like it.” Martin has been talking about it ever since the flight appeared on the schedule. 

“It’s the _Bateleur_.” Martin sounds fascinated, and he keeps on looking at it until they’re too far away. “The last Douglas DC-6 to come of the production line, and the last in the world in passenger configuration still flying commercially. I’ve _always_ wanted to see it.”

“Well, today is your lucky day then, we’ll go have a look.” 

“What? No, we only have thirty minutes to drop off the package and then we need to fly back, and it’s in the queue to leave…”

Douglas uses the radio. “Tower, when is that DC-6 leaving?” 

A short crackle. And then, “It is scheduled for take-off in seven minutes.” 

Martin’s breath stills. He looks back to where it was standing. “We won’t make that!”

Douglas can feel a good old challenge coming on. “Like _hell_ we won’t.” He stops GERTI, right in the middle of the runway. “Requesting a different position, preferable more to the right?” 

The voice on the radio sounds confused. “Why? Is there anything wrong with the H hangar?” 

“I’m sure it’s exquisite as far as hangars go, but we have a pilot here who is very eager to see that DC-6 depart, so for today we’re really more in the mood for say, A hangar. B, at the most.” 

There’s a pause. 

“You need to park in H hangar.”

Douglas looks at Martin, whose face is already falling. “What’s your name?”

“...Mandume.”

“Well, Mandume, do us this one little favour, and there’s fifty British pounds in it for you.” 

The line crackles. A breath. “Seventy.” 

Douglas grins. “Done.” 

“Permission to park in A hangar.”

They do it, fast. Douglas kills the engine, Martin jumps up, and off he goes. Douglas locks GERTI and steps out into the brutal sun as well, the heat immediately surrounding him. The runway seems to simmer. It’s also very quiet - Douglas can hear Martin’s footsteps resonate on the tarmac as he flat-out runs, holding on to his hat. 

Douglas follows behind at a more leisurely pace. Half a minute in, he’s already breaking out in a sweat. Having to squint to see where Martin is running to. It’s not the best idea, he might not make it, and even then, not see much. 

Douglas looks around until he spots a towable stairway in the distance, standing by the side of the runway, and yells, “Martin! Go on the stairs!” 

Martin hears enough to turn around and look at him, and at Douglas’ pointed arm, changes course towards it.

Douglas follows, still walking. He hears Martin shout, “Come on, it’s leaving!”

Fine. Douglas speeds up into a slight jog. It’s further away than he thought it would be, and the heat is frankly unbearable. Eventually he, panting, drags himself onto the - unstable, these aren’t meant to be used without support - stairway. He holds on to the railing and manages to get up there right as Martin says, “Oh!” And yes, there it is, the Douglas DC-6B. Picking up speed now, and they watch its wheels leave the runway. 

Douglas looks at Martin, flushed from running, smiling widely as his eyes follow the plane. “Oh, look at those pistons!”

Douglas glances at them. “Yes, splendid.” 

Martin lets out a small, pleased sigh. He looks on as the plane slowly gains altitude. “I’ve always wanted to see that.” 

“Well, one to cross of the list.” 

Martin follows it for a couple more minutes. When he finally tears his eyes away, it’s is nothing more than a plane-shaped dot in the bright blue sky. “That was amazing!” 

Martin takes a step forward that makes the whole stairway tilt, and unexpectedly comes close. It’s a sudden and bright shock to feel Martin’s body against his as he... oh, hugs him. 

Douglas is surprised at the rush of warmth that comes with having an ecstatic Martin in his arms. “Thank you, Douglas!” 

“Oh, it was easily done.” Douglas smiles. It was more than worth it to see Martin like this. 

Martin looks up at him, something purely happy in his eyes, and Douglas can feel himself pulse with the possibility of it. Martin in his arms. The quiet of a deserted airfield in the afternoon, the hot African sun beating down onto his shoulders, the stairs wobbling underneath their feet. 

Douglas leans down, and kisses him.

Martin breathes a soft gasp in reply, and then kisses back tentatively. Douglas pulls him even closer. He wants this, oh god, he does. Martin smiles against his lips, and Douglas deepens the kiss. It’s a long stretch of nothing but that, kissing him, kissing on and on. 

Douglas pulls back eventually, but he has to force himself to. 

Martin opens his eyes, blinks, and slowly a bright smile breaks over his face. His cheeks are flushed a deep red. 

Douglas swallows whatever emotion he is feeling, and says, “We should get back, I owe a Namibian air traffic controller named Mandume some money.” 

Douglas starts to climb down. Martin follows, and says, hesitantly, “You don’t have to, I mean, it was for me so I’ll pay…”

“Oh no, you won’t.” Douglas looks back at Martin, and tries for a smile. “That was a highly impressive gesture, brilliantly executed, and I want the credit for it.” 

They walk back in the heat over the endless simmering runway. It’s so hot it’s making his head stab, and all of it have a distinctly unreal quality - the kissing especially. 

 

-

 

Douglas sits in GERTI with a bottle of water and the air-conditioning on full, both recovering from the heat and waiting their turn to depart. 

Martin is looking at the control panel, but he’s also biting his lip. He’s still flushed even though it’s been about twenty minutes.

Douglas kissed him. 

Thinking about it now, he doesn’t regret it.

More than that, Douglas thoroughly enjoyed it. 

It should barely make a difference at this point, they did have sex, but still it’s different. A quick fling is controllable, it doesn’t matter, but this... Douglas wants to make Martin smile like that again, even if that means chasing planes in a desert heat. Especially if it’s that sort of thing - Douglas can be grand, for Martin. He can make his dreams come true. 

Douglas thinks of Helena again, laughing at him. _Are you some sort of pervert now? Wanting someone like that?_ He pushes the thoughts away, and focuses on Martin. “You all right?”

“Yes!” Martin looks at him, and smiles uncertainly, but his eyes are bright. “I wanted to do that. I, _Douglas_...” He trails off. 

Douglas knows what he means. 

He reaches out a hand, puts in on Martin’s upper thigh, and squeezes lightly. 

Martin glows the whole way home.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. (Martin)

 

 

It already seems as if maybe he dreamed it, seeing the _Bateleur_ in Namibia and being kissed all in the same day. 

Martin goes home, and still he can’t stop remembering it, kissing Douglas. The shot of warmth through his whole body when Douglas’ lips touched his. The plane, too, Douglas said it was a gesture. Martin only knows that it is one of the best things that someone has ever done for him. 

That so many of the things that Douglas does are. 

 

-

 

On the next flight, they go to Rome, and they’re hidden by a block of stone just behind the Coliseum when Douglas kisses him so gently that Martin can feel it down to his toes. 

In a dark alley later that night, when Arthur runs off to buy his third gelato of the day and Carolyn follows him to pay, Douglas slides his arms around Martin, pulls him close, and kisses his neck. Martin holds on for a long, warm moment, their bodies fitting together. 

And Martin thinks that maybe he should do it again, have sex. If he has to. That he could bear it. But then the memory makes him feel a quiet panic and he’s not sure again, because it hurt, and he can’t... 

Douglas doesn’t ask for it. Yet.

In the airport of Greenland, Douglas is in a hurry to get to his friend Pullaq to trade some black pudding they picked up in Scotland that morning. And Martin thinks that Douglas is not thinking about him at all, until Douglas puts a warm hand on his back and holds it there all the way through greeting his friend. 

In Fitton, when Carolyn is in the office still and it’s risky, just a little, Martin pushes Douglas against his car door and kisses him, knowing that he won’t see him again until the next flight three days from then. It hurts having to say goodbye for that long. Martin thinks it’s just him feeling that, but Douglas holds him close, too. 

On the Georgian countryside, they’re in a little hut in a historical park, when Douglas looks at him, and they’re kissing, again. It smells like wood and smoke there, there’s loose earth on the floor and Arthur is just outside, trying to talk a man out of his costume, but Martin can feel it rush through him. Every movement of Douglas’ lips against his, Douglas’ fingers against the bare skin of his forearm, his whole body gets goose bumps. 

And when Douglas leans back a little, Martin wraps his arms around Douglas’ neck and kisses him more, more. He forgets where they are -that there’s a tour group wandering by outside - and just feels Douglas’ arms around him, and drowns in it. 

Until there’s Arthur’s voice saying, “Hi, chaps!”

They break apart, fast. 

Martin quickly says, “Arthur! It’s not...”

But Arthur doesn’t seem surprised. “Are you in love now?” 

“Um, I don’t...” Martin instantly feels panicked. He doesn’t know what to say. Yes, he’s in love, he has been for a very long time, but it’s not like that for Douglas. It can’t be, so he can’t say it!

Douglas takes a breath. “It might be a bit too early for the word ‘love’, I’d say.” 

“Yes, yes it is!” Martin agrees readily, even though he can feel a bright burst of hope - too early? Does that mean that some day it might be true? 

“...but I am certainly _wooing_ Martin, yes.” 

Martin feels as if he can’t breathe. Or look at Douglas. Really?!

“That’s _brilliant_ , Douglas!” Arthur smiles at both of them. “Oh, and the man up front says I can wear his costume for a picture, come over when you’re done kissing?” Arthur disappears. 

Martin is left blinking, but Douglas seems fine. As if nothing changed. 

They walk out of the hut, towards the entrance of the park. They find Arthur chatting to the Georgian cowboy, and Arthur dresses up, Douglas takes pictures, and Martin pretends to shoot Arthur with a fake gun. But underneath he’s only thinking of what it means, Douglas saying that he’ll woo him. 

That it’s too early to call it love. 

 

-

 

It’s Mum’s birthday, right after. Martin buys her flowers - blue hydrangeas, her favourites - and goes to visit her. 

Caitlin is there. She smiles when she sees him, but as always, Martin’s not really sure whether she means it anymore. 

Martin sits between her and Mum, and they eat cake. 

They talk about Caitlin’s job. Then Mum talks over that and tells them both that Simon is so important and good at his job that he couldn’t be here, as ever. Martin shares a look with Caitlin, and then makes sure to ask her again. In return, Caitlin asks about Martin’s job, too. Where they’ve been flying to. She says that she’s always wanted to go to Rome, and that her husband promised her last year, but then the kids got bronchitis. 

It goes pretty well, until Mum goes into the kitchen to sort out more tea, and Caitlin asks, “So, Martin, do you have a,” she stumbles over the words, “a special someone yet?” 

Immediately, all Martin can think of is Douglas. 

It shows on his face, because Caitlin smiles a teasing smile. “Yes, you _do!_ Oh, you have someone, I can tell!” 

And for a moment it feels as if they’re sisters again. Caitlin teasing Martin about stupid little crushes that he made up, just so he would feel normal. Caitlin always loved to talk about things like that. Boys. 

So that’s why Martin tells her. “Maybe. I think it could - um.”

Caitlin smiles at him. “Oh, I’m so glad for you!” She seems to mean it, too. And then asks, awkwardly, “So, I’m sorry but… it is a woman, or…?” 

Martin doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t mind that Caitlin asks, because it’s so much nicer than never saying anything at all, or than never being asked at all, too. He never talks about it with Mum, because she refuses to, and with Simon it’s just terrible. But here she is, looking at him as if she wants to know. As if it would be fine. So Martin tells her, “It’s a he. A man.” 

“Oh, so you _do_ …” Caitlin stops. “Then why did you…” She frowns. “You could have been normal, then?” 

_Normal._ Martin knows that Caitlin doesn’t say it to be mean, not like Simon would. She just doesn’t get it. “I always was a boy, Caitlin.” 

She sighs. “No, you weren’t. I was there, remember, you were just like me.” She looks at him intently. “You haven’t had the surgery, so you could always go back, just be a woman again. If your boyfriend is fine with it then you can!” She smiles, seems happy for him. “Oh, you could have kids together still, even!” 

Martin can feel a strange anger push at him. “I’m not… I won’t. I won’t ever go back!” 

“But how do you know that you won’t like it? You can try! Maybe you were just confused for a while?” She seems so hopeful. 

And that’s the worst. That she wants that so badly for him. Martin swallows past the knot in his throat. “Tell Mum Happy Birthday.” He gets up.

“No, please, don’t!” Caitlin seems sorry. “I just wanted to talk, but there’s nothing I can say anymore. Don’t you remember that we used to talk? I miss that. I miss my sister!”

Martin can feel that hurt him, because he misses her, too. They were close, once. Before she got married. And before... “I’m right here, Caitlin.” 

“It’s not the same, though, is it? You’re someone else now.” She seems angry about that. 

Martin doesn’t know what to say. But Mum chooses that moment to come in with another pot of tea on a tray that’s trembling in her hands, and they both turn to help her. “Come here, Mum.” and “Give me…” 

So Martin stays, for Mum. He has another cup of tea. And then, when he says goodbye to Mum, Caitlin says that she’s going, too. 

Martin tenses as they step outside. 

He tries to be ready for whatever else Caitlin wants to say. But what she says is, eyeing him, “If it gets serious, I’d like to meet him sometime, Martin. Your boyfriend.” 

Martin feels unsure. “I don’t know...” 

She takes a breath, and says, something defiant on her face, “I have to make sure _my brother_ chooses a good one now, don’t I?” 

Oh. Martin can hardly believe it. He stares at her. “...Okay.”

She nods, and goes to her car. “See you, Martin.” 

And for once, Martin feels better after seeing them. His family.

 

-

 

A week later, they have a last-minute booking. 

Martin has to re-schedule a moving job with the van but he doesn’t even mind, he tells Carolyn ‘yes’ on the phone straight away. He packs his bag for an overnight, and drives to the airport. When gets into GERTI, Douglas is already in his seat. Martin hesitates, then touches Douglas’ shoulder, and leaves his hand there for a moment. “Hi.”

Douglas looks up at him, and smiles. He seems charmed. “Eager to go to Key West, are you?” 

Yes, a bit. “I’ve never landed there.” 

“I’m not sure if you will this time, look at the weather report.” Douglas hands it to him. “Tropical storm Wendy. That’s why we’re flying today, this poor old sod of a multimillionaire wants to get to his beach house and _most definitely_ doesn’t care what the weather is like. Or that his usual airline won’t fly him. So better prepare for a bumpy ride.” 

Martin studies the forecast. Douglas is right, it doesn’t look good. Really, they shouldn’t fly at all. 

Carolyn walks in and says, before Martin can bring up his concerns, “Shush, both of you - I know what you are going to say and no, we’re flying anyway.” Martin opens his mouth to protest, but she stops him again, “This man is paying us to try, so try we shall.” She addresses Douglas, “If it gets too much, then we’ll simply divert, and fly on tomorrow. But we’re trying.” 

Douglas says, “Well, we _are_ invited for dinner at Ray’s and Laquita’s, if we’re ever stuck there.” 

Martin considers it. “As long as we divert at the first sign of too much turbulence…”

“Good, that’s arranged then. The client will be here in a minute, so get your piloting on!” 

 

-

 

It’s not an easy flight. 

The first couple of hours are normal, they play ‘things that happened at each airport of the alphabet’ with Douglas and Carolyn outdoing each other with crazy stories that Martin loves to listen to. 

Then ‘songs titles that sound like a threat’, where he gets a few in as well. 

And then ‘things you can say about a plane, but not a person’ - Douglas wins that one, but it’s enough to make Carolyn laugh, and Martin blush, wildly, when Arthur asks what exactly some of them mean. 

Arthur serves them dinner early, and then they start hitting turbulence. 

The last hour is terrifying. Martin can feel his heart racing as he pilots them through increasing wind speeds, then torrential rain and dark, heavy clouds. Douglas is right there next to him keeping an eye on it, too, but Martin is in charge. It’s his responsibly. So even though he’s scared, and even though Douglas offers to take over, Martin does it. 

There’s some shouting with Carolyn about how Martin really thinks that they should divert, but ATC says that they can go on, so Martin has to fly. 

He makes the announcement of ‘all cabin personnel buckle up’ because he’s afraid that Arthur or Carolyn might fall down because of the turbulence. Or worse, that they’ll hit a sudden air pocket and then the plane will move and it will hurt them. It’s a huge responsibility. Martin doesn’t always feel it this heavy anymore, but it’s terrifying, trying to get them all on the ground safely. 

It’s a struggle to land, too. Douglas is with him every step of the way. Repeating commands, reminding him of procedures. And then there’s palm trees visible, bending in the wind, and dark, moving water, and the sudden smack of the runway. They made it. 

Martin landed them in a class one hurricane. 

 

-

 

They get the passenger out - who is the only one who threw up - and then make a run for it through the rain. Inside the tiny airport, and then to a taxi. 

Martin feels elated. He did it! He really, really did it! 

Arthur hugs him and says, “You did brilliantly, skip! Really, you’re _amazing!_ ”

Carolyn adds, “Yes, Martin - we’ve all heard and seen it, this isn’t going to be like the bird strike story, is it?” But there’s little annoyance behind it. She even seems a little proud. 

They check into a motel, and they’re dividing the keys, when Carolyn glances at them, and says, “Arthur, you and I sharing a room tonight. Martin and Douglas can have theirs.” 

Martin feels a bright flash of fear. She _knows?_ Martin searches Carolyn’s face, because some people really don’t like the thought of people like him being together with anyone else, especially someone like Douglas, he’s so amazing, and... 

Douglas says, “Why Carolyn! You old romantic, you. Leaving us alone in a hurricane.” 

“Yes, well, consider yourselves lucky that MJN doesn’t have rules about that sort of thing. Frankly, I never thought we’d need any, but oh, how you two have proven me wrong...” 

Arthur smiles, and says, “It’ll be like a sleep-over, Mum!” 

She sighs, “Yes, won’t that be fun.”

But Martin looks at her, and says, something hard in his chest, “Thank you, Carolyn.” 

She smiles, very briefly, and then looks away. “Yes, yes, let’s go to bed.” 

They leave. 

Martin feels a little nervous, now. He hasn’t shared a room with Douglas since what happened in Milan.

They walk to their room, Douglas first, then Martin, carrying his bag and holding his hat on his head because it keeps on blowing off. He feels out of breath from fighting the wind. 

They make it inside. Martin locks the door behind them. They can hear the wind push around the building, whine and cry, and shake the windows and shutters. Douglas turns the lights by the beds on. Drops his luggage to the side, and then looks at him. 

Martin is tired, actually. It’s really late in Fitton, his body thinks it’s somewhere in the middle of the night, and his adrenalin is wearing off. 

But Douglas steps towards him, and Martin can feel his knees go weak. Oh. 

Martin wraps his arms over Douglas’ damp shoulders, and kisses him. 

It feels different than before, when they were outside and anyone could come by and see them. Now there’s nothing to look out for, so Martin doesn’t think of anything else than the feeling of Douglas kissing him. 

Martin stands on his toes, he wants to be closer. And then when Douglas pushes him backwards against the door, Martin’s head hits the wall, and this hat falls off. 

Douglas laughs, briefly. 

Then kisses him again. 

After a while, Martin can feel the hardness of Douglas’ penis by his stomach. He presses himself against it, not sure why, except that it makes Douglas hold him even closer. Until Douglas steps back, and lowers his eyes. “Well, perhaps that’s enough.” His voice sounds low, and deep. 

He turns away, and gets a pair of pyjamas. 

Martin feels a rush of frustration, why can’t he be normal and just do this! 

But he changes in the room while Douglas is in the bathroom, and then they switch and Martin goes to brush his teeth. 

He still feels great. He did that, he landed them, and now… what they just did. Kiss. Martin looks in the mirror, and sees someone look back who’s flushed, with crazy hair from the rain and wind and maybe Douglas’ hands, too. 

He looks like himself. 

 

-

 

When Martin gets out of the bathroom, he suddenly remembers. “I have a present.” 

Douglas is sitting on the bed already. The double bed. “Yes?” 

Martin can’t believe that he forgot, but he was so focused on the weather, flying through a hurricane and landing GERTI. Martin takes it out of his flight bag. He hurried making this one. But it didn’t matter because there was nothing else that he wanted to be doing. 

He gives it to Douglas. “It’s a Douglas DC-6. For you.” 

Martin will never, ever be able to see one of those and not think of Douglas, he just had to make him one. 

Douglas smiles. “Ah! That deserves a place of honour on the flight deck, don’t you think?” 

They’re not really allowed to put any decorations in the flight deck. But maybe it they attach it to a sting? Or somehow attach it to the side so it won’t be in the way of any potential evacuation manoeuvres. “Yes.” 

Douglas puts it on his side table, and says, “Well, thank you.” 

Then he takes Martin’s hand, and pulls a little. Martin lets himself be pulled onto the bed, and suddenly he’s sprawled half-over Douglas and he’s getting a kiss that makes him feel as if he has a chest full of butterflies. Martin breathes, and smiles. “You’re welcome.” 

Douglas holds him close like that. Martin can feel that Douglas is still aroused. That he’s trying not to do too much, too. 

Martin kisses him again. It’s a soft brush of lips. 

Another one. A hint of tongue. 

Douglas pulls back a little, and Martin chases him for one more touch of his lips. 

Douglas’ hands around him keep on roaming, pulling him in. Martin does, too, he holds Douglas, but his body can’t seem to settle, he keeps on moving.

Douglas breathes, and Martin kisses him again, a peck to his lips. Then his neck, Martin curiously tastes the skin there. Licks it a little. Douglas says, sounding torn, “We should go to sleep, Martin.”

“Yes.” He’s right, they should. 

Martin kisses Douglas’ mouth again, one last time. A kiss that lingers. Where it’s like breathing and their lips are so close that it flutters and burns in goodbye, only none of them are leaning away. Martin can feel the heat between his legs, too. He wants to do more. He does, but it won’t… be nice. 

Douglas kisses him again, and suddenly Martin can’t stand it anymore, he leans his whole body over Douglas so he has him under him, and the feeling is amazing. His insides contract hotly at the feeling of Douglas’ penis, hard, between them. 

“Martin…” 

Douglas pushes him up a little, away, so Martin sits up on his knees, one knee on each side of Douglas. It feels really strange, seeing Douglas under him like that. Between his legs. “I don’t want to stop.” 

“You’re sure?”

Martin nods. He wants to at least try, at least a little. 

Douglas looks him over. Then reaches out a hand and puts it right on Martin’s packer. Douglas traces his fingers over it, and Martin looks down at them. “Then show me?”

“You want to see that?” Martin is not sure whether that’s a good idea. It’s not real. Douglas will think it’s weird, and…

But Douglas seems sure. “I do.” 

Martin lowers his pyjama bottoms a bit, to show his boxers. They have a slit, there, that’s why he bought them. Douglas’ hand is hesitating right by it, so Martin takes Douglas’ hand, and puts it on there, on the fabric.

Douglas pushes his fingers in the slit, and pulls it out. Martin looks down and sees the bit of his latex penis there. It’s not an erect one, and it’s kind of small, he picked the smallest model. But it looks real. And to see it like that, in Douglas’ hand… Martin can barely believe it. He shivers. 

It looks, well, it looks real, but it’s more than that. It’s _his_ , that Douglas is touching. Just the thought of it, it’s incredible. 

Douglas looks up at him. “Is that all right?” 

Martin nods.

Douglas looks at him, and then slowly moves his hand over it from the base, hidden in Martin’s boxers, all the way to the tip, and then back. Martin can feel all of himself _ache_ at the thought. He knows it’s not real, he does know that, but it just feels so tense - Douglas’ eyes on him, and Douglas’ hand, moving over him. 

Martin can feel Douglas’ erection pressing against his pyjama bottoms. Martin slowly sits himself over him, and then up again, over him, not sure what he’s doing. After a bit Douglas lifts his knees, so Martin can sit against them. Douglas presses on the shape of Martin’s packer in turn with Martin moving his hips, and that feels so good… He’s wet there, he can feel the edge of his boxers stick to him and let go every time he moves his hips.

Douglas traces his hand a little lower, or Martin does because he tilts his hips more, he’s not sure, but then suddenly he can feel Douglas’ fingers on the elastic of his boxers. “You want to take those off?” 

Maybe. He isn’t sure. Martin moves from over Douglas to sit next to him, and pushes his pyjama bottoms down. Martin’s heart is beating fast now. He’s scared again, even though it does feel different this time. Especially because Douglas reaches out, and touches his packer again. “Leave that on.” 

Martin pulls his boxers over his knees, and gets out of them. Okay. He will. 

He can do this, Martin tells himself. He can. He needs to. 

Douglas lowers his pyjama bottoms too, and it must have been a bit uncomfortable because his erection pushes right out. Douglas is red and hard, there, swollen. Martin reaches out. He likes this, touching Douglas there. The feel of him, the smell. Douglas feels hot to hold. His skin is soft and smooth. Martin moves his hand up and down over the glans that’s already wet and kind of sticky. 

Douglas turns to him, and says with a grin, “Watch.” He takes Martin’s penis in his hand, and then turns to his side so he can reach, and rubs his own against it. 

Douglas’ is much bigger, and hard, but Martin can feel the sight of it run through him like a warm thrill. It stills his breath, to see that. Douglas’ penis against his own. 

Douglas looks at his face, and asks, “You like that?”

He seems a bit unsure, but Martin can’t nod fast enough. “Yes.” 

Douglas seems pleased. “In that case, I have another thought as well.” Douglas pushes on Martin’s hip. “Turn around?” 

Oh. Martin isn’t sure about that. He did think about it, but he doesn’t, he just... no. He tries very hard to stay calm. And takes a breath. “I don’t want to. You inside of me... I’m sorry!” He is sorry, a lot. Martin feels so bad saying it because Douglas _should_ be allowed to do that, but the thought alone feels wrong. Maybe he’ll bleed again, and it’ll hurt, and it makes him feel nauseous just remembering the feeling of Douglas’ fingers there last time. He can’t! 

But Douglas doesn’t seem to mind. “No, I was aiming more for the visual. Here – try it?”

Martin does turn around, not sure what Douglas wants to do then. Martin feels stiff, now. Tense. He’s not sure if he still likes it.

Douglas takes Martin’s knee and pulls it up a little. Douglas’ erection is pressing hard and hot by Martin’s buttocks. Douglas moves himself a bit lower down the bed so it pops between Martin’s legs, but to the front, and then... oh! 

“Can you see it?”

Douglas’ erection is right there, as Martin looks down he can see his packer, but a small bit of Douglas’ penis, too. “Yes.” 

Martin touches the tip in-between his legs. He quickly feels downwards, the hot, hard length there, all the way back to where Douglas is. It’s like it’s his. 

He can’t stop touching it, it’s perfect, right there. “It’s... that’s _great!_ ” It really is, it feels amazing. 

“Hm, I figured.” Douglas moves a little higher, and Martin can feel Douglas’ penis there not only with his fingers and on the inside of his thighs, but closer. It presses against all the folds and bits he has between his legs. Martin can feel the wetness there stick to it a bit. 

His breath stutters. 

“Does it feel all right there, too?” Douglas sounds like he’s trying to be really careful. 

Martin turns his head just enough to look at Douglas. He nods. 

Douglas kisses Martin’s neck, and Douglas’ other arm curls around him, too, so all of Martin’s back is pressed to Douglas’ chest. Martin lies back against him. It feels nice. Like he’s surrounded by Douglas. 

They stay like that for a while, not doing much.

Martin can feel himself relax. 

Until Douglas’ hand traces Martin’s shoulder, and then, very slowly, runs down and under his pyjama top. Douglas pushes the fabric up until he’s touching Martin’s binder, then waits. “Can I?”

Martin holds his breath, and tenses. “Yes.” Douglas touches a nipple, and Martin can feel the bright shot of feeling that brings. 

Douglas moves, and his penis slides a little as he goes forward. 

Martin tilts his hips in reply, and presses his buttocks to Douglas’ hips. 

Douglas keeps on touching Martin’s nipples, and Martin can feel it get wetter between his legs as Douglas moves back and forth in small rocking movements. It’s the pressure there that feels so good - Martin feels like he’s shivering all over but also so warm that he’s radiating heat. 

Douglas takes his hand out of the way so Martin can close his legs, and then he has Douglas’ penis right there, stuck between them. It makes it harder to move but the feeling is so nice. Martin tenses his legs and holds them as close together as they’ll go. He clenches them, and then lets go, clenches them again, trying to do something, he’s not really sure what. Only that it feels incredible, to see the tip of Douglas’ penis there. To feel all of him between his legs. 

“Just like it’s yours?” Douglas asks. He has his hand splayed over Martin’s ribs, and then trails up again, touches a nipple. Martin can feel his whole body reach for Douglas’ hand. 

“Yes.” Martin is a bit out of breath. He opens his legs again, and Douglas immediately starts sliding his penis back and forth again. Martin can feel a long, strange tingle there every time he slides up, and then something warm when he goes down. He’s not sure which one he wants the most, so he keeps on moving his hips to get one and then the other.

Douglas chuckles into his ear. “You like this, then?”

“Yes.” Martin knows he does. It feels right, Douglas behind him. Holding him so close. 

“And this?” Douglas’ hand moves from Martin’s leg to between them, to help his penis there press a little more. Martin can feel what Douglas does, he pushes it up on every go, right to where it feels tingly-good. 

It feels really nice, but Martin feels frustrated, too. It’s like he wants more. Like he can’t quite get that, whatever it is. He’s sweating. His hair sticks to his forehead, his clothes feel damp. His nipples both are so hard they hurt, and when Douglas pinches one again Martin breathes, “Ah!” and tilts his hips again, faster. 

He’s so wet there, now. He’s not sure why he can’t stop moving. 

Martin feels Douglas’ hand move a little so his fingers are there, too. Douglas whispers, “Okay?” into his ear. 

Martin can feel them rub, _right there_. 

His legs start to shake really hard all of a sudden, he can’t stop it. “ _Ah_...”

Douglas’ fingers run around and around there and the feeling seems to spread all over him, over all of Martin’s body. 

It tingles and presses and he can hear himself say, “Ah – ah – ah...” as the feeling down there builds. It prickles and waves and it reaches something huge and wonderful, a peak, “ _Ah!_ ” And then he can feel himself contract, inside. Again and again, it’s a wave of good and warm and heat... and it slowly fades away. 

Douglas stops touching him. 

Martin is completely out of breath. He sinks back against Douglas’ chest, not sure when he tensed so hard, but it feels as if every muscle has gone all warm and heavy now. His legs are still shaking. 

Douglas says, sounding proud. “That sounded rather on the _marvellous_ side.” 

It must have been an orgasm, Martin thinks. He has had some of that feeling before, the tense little shocks and peaks, and he thought that that was what it was, but he’s never felt something like this. 

Martin moves his legs so that Douglas’ still-hard penis isn’t trapped there anymore, and then turns around to face him. Douglas is lying back. He seems content to wait a bit more, but Martin doesn’t want to, he kisses him.

Douglas moves against him immediately. He’s very hard. Martin reaches down to touch him as they kiss. He holds Douglas’ erection and moves his hand up and down. Douglas sighs into the kiss, and says against his lips, “Oh, Martin, _yes_ , like that.” 

Martin moves his hand right over the tip, back and forth, and then slides it down again to get all of the length. 

He puts a leg over Douglas’ hip, because he wants to be close, and then Douglas’ penis is pressing hard to his stomach. It’s harder to move his hand like that, until Douglas rolls on top of him, and just thrusts into his hand. It’s great, Martin can feel the weight of Douglas over him, all of him moving. Martin has to tilt his head back to kiss him again. 

Douglas thrusts and Martin can feel him shake, all of him, heat and damp with sweat. And then there’s one last hard thrust, and Douglas says, muffled, “ _Hm_...” and Martin can feel him come in his hand, pulsing all slick and hot. 

Douglas moves once more, just a bit, and it spread all over Martin’s fingers as Douglas pulls away. He leaves a glittering trail over Martin’s stomach. 

Douglas rolls back so he’s not on top of Martin anymore. 

Martin lies his head down on the pillow, hides his face to Douglas’ arm, and breathes. He did it! He did! They had sex! 

Douglas reaches out, and holds his hand to the side of Martin’s face so he’ll look up. “Martin? You all right?”

Martin is. He nods. 

Douglas leans over to kiss him, really gently. Martin can feel that break his heart just a little, but it breaks with happiness. 

“You enjoyed that, then?” Douglas seems like he did. 

“Yes.” Martin is still feeling stunned. He never, ever thought that it could feel like this. He feels a little shaky, still, and his packer was pushed out of place. His top is, too. His lips feel warm and swollen and wet, and his upper legs are all slick. He’s still pulsing a bit, inside. His hand and stomach have come on them, but it feels good. He feels good. “I did.” 

Douglas puts an arm around him, and Martin moves closer, and leans his head on Douglas’ chest. They’re both so warm, still. Douglas’ hand touches Martin’s hair, and slowly cards through it. 

The Douglas DC-6 is on the side table. Martin looks at it. He’ll never forget that, their first kiss in Namibia. None of it. None of the things Douglas and him have done. 

There’s the sound of rain hitting the window in sheets, and the wind is still howling. Martin had forgotten that there was a storm outside at all. He didn’t hear it. He forgot about anything else. It doesn’t matter, what is happening out there. He feels so warm. Safe. 

He admits, softly, “I didn’t think that it could ever feel like that.”

“What, sex?” Douglas sounds pleased. “We just had to find our _groove_ , that’s all. A bit of experimentation goes a long way.”

Well, yes, he did mean that, but... Martin thinks of his penis. What Douglas did, touching him like that, pretending that it was real. Doing all that for him. He feels teary-eyed, suddenly. “I didn’t think anyone would ever want to. With me.” _That anyone would ever want to touch me._

Martin raises his head and looks at Douglas, knowing that he seems sad maybe, but he’s not. 

“Well, granted, it does take an adventurous sort of fellow.” Douglas puts a hand on Martin’s cheek, wipes a tear away with his thumb, and says, “...But luckily for you, Martin, I am _just that_.” And then pulls him close again. 

Martin smiles, and closes his eyes. It sounds like a promise. 

That’s enough, for now.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
